1  ENGLISH  LYRICS   f 


I 


^^0 


9.      S1LV£R,BURDETT&  COMPANY      S 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


UNlVEKSri'Y  of  CALU^'OKMa 
LOS  ANGELES 


Select  iSnfllisb  Classlce 


Choice  English  Lyrics 


SELECTED  AND  ARRANGED 
BY 

JAMES   BALDWIN 

Author  of  "  The  Book  of  Elegies,"  "  The  Famous  Allegories,' 
"  Six  Centuries  of  English  Poetry,"  etc. 


'        '       ..,'0      »*^i  *'«»>»■»■' 


SILVER,   BURDETT  &  COMPANY 

New  York        BOSTON        Chicago 


1 50.'1 !  2 


Copyright,  1894, 
By  silver,  BURDETT  &  COMPANY. 


PUBLISHERS'   NOTE. 


This  is  the  fourth  volume  of  a  series  of  Select  English 
Classics  which  the  publishers  have  in  course  of  preparation. 
The  series  will  include  an  extensive  variety  of  selections 
chosen  from  the  different  departments  of  English  literature, 
and  arranged  and  annotated  for  the  use  of  classes  in  schools. 
It  will  embrace,  among  other  things,  representative  specimens 
from  all  the  best  Enghsh  writers,  whether  of  poetry  or  of 
prose  ;  selections  from  English  dramatic  Hterature,  especially 
of  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries ;  choice  extracts 
from  the  writings  of  the  great  essayists ;  selections  from 
famous  English  allegories  ;  a  volume  of  elegies  and  elegiacal 
poetry ;  studies  of  English  prose  fiction,  with  illustrative  speci- 
mens, etc.  Each  volume  will  contain  copious  notes,  critical, 
explanatory,  and  biographical,  besides  the  necessary  vocabu- 
laries, glossaries,  and  indexes  ;  and  the  series  when  complete 
will  present  a  varied  and  comprehensive  view  of  all  that  is 
best  in  English  literature.  For  supplementary  reading,  as 
well  as  for  systematic  class  instruction,  the  books  will  possess 
many  peculiarly  valuable  as  well  as  novel  features ;  while  their 
attractive  appearance,  combined  with  the  sterling  quality  of 
their  contents,  will  commend  them  for  general  reading  and 
make  them  desirable  acquisitions  for  every  library. 

3 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/choiceenglishlyrOObald 


CONTENTS. 


Songs  of  Nature  and  the  Seasons: 

1.  A  Morning  Song 

2.  Dawn-Song 

3.  Morning 

4.  A  Greeting 

5.  May  Morning 

6.  Hunting  Song 

7.  May-Day 

8.  The  Story  of  a  Summer  Day 

9.  Holiday  in  Arcadia       .... 
ID.  After  Rain 

11.  Under  the  Greenwood  Tree  .     . 

12.  Evening 

13.  Evening  Song 

14.  To  Diana 

15.  Evening  Hymn 

16.  Serenade 

17.  Slumber-Song 

18.  Invocation  to  Sleep      .... 

19.  The  Young  May  Moon      .     .     . 

20.  Night  in  the  Desert      .... 

21.  The  World's  Wanderers   .     .     . 

22.  To  the  Moon       

23.  The  Coming  of  Spring      .     .     . 

24.  Spring 

25.  To  Blossoms 

26.  A  Spring  Idyll 

5 


PAGE 

William  Shakespeare  ...      13 

Sir  William  Davenant 

14 

James  Beat  tie     .... 

14 

Thomas  Heywood    . 

>5 

John  Milton  .... 

16 

Sir  Walter  Scott     .     . 

16 

Robert  Herrick    .     . 

17 

Alexander  Hume     . 

20 

James  Shirley     .     . 

25 

William   WordsTvorth 

25 

William  Shakespeare 

26 

William  Collins 

27 

John  Fletcher      .     . 

29 

Thomas  Heywood    . 

30 

Sir  Thomas  Browne 

31 

Owen  Meredith  .     . 

32 

John  Fletcher      .     . 

33 

Beaumont  and  Fletchet 

34 

Thomas  Moore    .     . 

34 

Robert  Soulhey    .     . 

35 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 

36 

<(            «            (i 

36 

Anon 

■    37 

Thomas  Nash      .     . 

•    37 

Robert  Herrick    .     . 

.    38 

Sir  Henry  Wotton  . 

•    39 

CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

27.  To  Daffadils Robert  Herrick 39 

28.  To  the  Lark "           "         40 

29.  Ode  to  the  Cuckoo Michael  Bruce 41 

30.  To  the  Cuckoo William   Wordsworth  ...  42 

31.  To  the  Daisy "                 "             ...  43 

32.  Almond  Blossom Edwin  Arttold 45 

33.  The  Fly William  Oldys 46 

34.  The  Tiger William  Blake 47 

35.  The  Nightingale Richard  Barnfield  ....  47 

36.  To  a  Waterfowl William  Ctillen  Bryant  .     .  48 

37.  The  Chough  and  the  Crow    .     .     Joanna  Baillie 50 

38.  Autumn Percy  Bysshe  Shelley     ...  51 

39.  Ode  to  Autumn Thovias  Hood 52 

40.  To  Autumn John  Keats 54 

41.  Ode  to  the  West  Wind     .     .     .  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley    ...  55 

42.  The  Sea Bryan  Waller  Procter     .     .  58 

43.  Winter William  Shakespeare  ...  59 

44.  Christinas  Carol William  Morris      ....  60 

45.  Dirge  for  the  Year Percy  Bysshe  Shelley    ...  62 

Notes 63 


Songs  of  Battle,  Bravery,  and  Patriotism: 

1 .  The  Battle  of  Agincourt    .     .     .  Michael  Drayton 

2.  The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade  Alfred  Tennyson 

3.  The  Coming  of  Charlemagne      .  Lord  Macaulay 

4.  The  Battle  of  Bannockhurn  .     .  Robert  Burns     . 

5.  The  Gathering  Song  of  Donuil 

Dhu 

6.  Killiecrankie  .... 

7.  Lament  for  Flodden     . 

8.  Bonnie  (ieorge  Campbell 

9.  The  Battle  of  Ivry Lord  Macaulay 

ID.  The  Armada   .... 

11.  Ye  Mariners  of  England   .     .     .  Thomas  Campbell 

12.  The  Battle  of  Naseby   ....  Lord  Macaulay 

13.  The  Battle  of  the  Baltic    .     .     .  Thomas  Campbell 

14.  Hohenlinden  .... 


Sir  Walter  Scott  . 
William  E.  Aytoun 
Jane  Elliott.      .      . 


69 
73 
75 
76 

77 
79 
83 
84 

85 

88 

93 

95 

99 

101 


CONTENTS.  7 

PAGE 

15.  The  Battle Thomas  Moore 103 

16.  The  Enel  of  the  Siege  ....     Elizabeth  Barrett  Broivning    104 

17.  The  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore  at 

Corunna Charles  Wolfe 112 

18.  Battle  Song Ebenezer  Elliott      .      .      .      .113 

19.  The  War  Song  of  Dinas  Vavvr    .  Thomas  Love  Peacock       .      .114 

20.  The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib     Lord  Byron 116 

21.  The  Soldier's  Dream    ....  Thomas  Campbell  .      .      .      •    117 

22.  The  Minstrel-Boy Thomas  Moore 118 

23.  The  Last  Buccanier      ....  Charles  Kingsley    .     .     .      .    Ii8 

24.  My  Native  Vale Samuel  Rogers 120 

25.  "  I  Travelled   among  Unknown 

Men" William   Wordsiuorth       .      .121 

26.  The  Isles  of  Greece      ....     Lord  Byron 122 

Notes 125 

Ballads : 

1.  Robin  Hood's  Death  and  Burial 132 

2.  The  Wife  of  Usher's  Well 135 

3.  King  John  and  the  Abbot 137 

4.  The  Douglas  Tragedy 141 

5.  The  Twa  Corbies 144 

6.  Edward  of  the  Bloody  Brand     .      Sir  David  Dalrymple       .     .145 

7.  Barbara  Allen's  Cruelty 147 

8.  Burd  Helen Anon 150 

9.  The  Twa  Sisters " 151 

10.  The  Twa  Brothers 154 

11.  Lochinvar Sir  Walter  Scott    .     .      .     .157 

12.  Black-Eyed  Susan       ....      ^ohn  Gay 159 

13.  Sally  in  Our  Alley LLenry  Carey 161 

14.  Auld  Robin  Gray L^dy  Anne  Barnard .     .     .    163 

15.  Jeanie  Morrison William  Motherwell  .      .     .164 

16.  Lady  Clare Alfred  Tennyson    .     .      .      .168 

17.  Lucy  Gray;   or,  Solitude .     .     .  William  Wordsworth      .     .171 

Notes  . 174 


8  CONTENTS. 

Lyrics  of  Love: 

PAGE 

1.  Old  Love  Song 178 

2.  My  Swete  Swetyng 179 

3.  In  Praise  of  Daphne  ....      yohn  I.yly iSo 

4.  Phfllis Sir  Charles  Sedley       .      .     .    iSo 

5.  The  Lover  to  his  Lute     .      .      .  Sir  Thomas  IVyati     .      .     .181 

6.  The  Lover  to  his  Lyre     .      .      .  Abraham  Cowley    .      .      .     .183 

7.  The  Lover's  Appeal    ....  Sir  Thomas  IVyalt     .     .     .184 

8.  A  Lost  Love      ......  yohn  Addington  Symonds     .   185 

9.  To  the  Virgins  to  make   much 

of  Time Robert  Her  rick 1 86 

10.  The  Rose's  Message  ....  Edmund  IValler    .     .     .     .186 

11.  Go,  Happy  Rose Robert  Herrick 187 

12.  Phillida  Flouts  Me      ....     Anon 188 

13.  An  Appeal Sir  Thomas  Wyatt     .     .     .191 

14.  The  Passionate  Shepherd  to  his 

Love Christopher  Marlowe  .      .     .    192 

15.  The  Shepherdess's  Reply      .     .  Sir  Walter  Raleigh     .     .     .193 

16.  Little  but  Long 194 

17.  Pastoral IVilliam  Shenstone     .     .     .196 

iS.   Silent  Music Thomas  Campion ....    198 

19.  Samela Robert  Greene 199 

20.  To  Helen Edgar  Allan  Poe    ....   200 

21.  My  Jean Robert  Burns 201 

22.  Mary  Morison "  "         20I 

23.  Highland  Mary "  "         202 

24.  To  Mary  in  Heaven    ....  "  "         204 

25.  The   Author's    Resolution    in   a 

Sonnet George  Wither 205 

26.  The  Soldier  going  to  the  Field  .  Sir  William  Davenant  .     .   206 

27.  Song  to  Chloris Sir  Charles  Sedley       .     .     .    207 

28.  Song William  Brozvne    ....    209 

29.  To  Althea — P'rom  Prison     .     .  Col.  Richard  Lovelace      .     .   210 

30.  Her  Golden  Hair "             "             "            .     .   211 

31.  To    Lucasta    (on    going    to   the 

Wars) "             "             "            .     .   212 

32.  Apprenticed yean  Ingelow 212 


CONTENTS.  9 

PAGE 

33.  The  Long  White  Seam    .     .     .     yean  Ingelcnu 213 

34.  A  Bridal  Song Beaitmoni  and  Fletcher    .     .   214 

35.  Constancy     .......  Sir  John  Suckling      .     .     .215 

36.  Come  o'er  the  Sea Thomas  Moore 216 

37.  The  Banks  of  Doon    ....     Robert  Burns 217 

38.  Song Beaumont  and  Fletcher    .     .218 

39.  Penthea's  Dying  Song      .      .      .      yohn  Ford 218 

40.  Stanzas  for  Music Lord  Byron 219 

Notes 220 

Sonnets  : 


1.  Description   and    Praise    of   his 

Love  Geraldine Earl  of  Surrey  . 

2.  Herself  all  Treasure     ....  Edmund  Spenser    . 

3.  A     Vision     upon     the     Faerie 

Queene Sir  IValter  Raleigh     . 

4.  On  first  looking  into  Chapman's 

Homer yohn  Keats  . 

5.  On  his  Blindness yohn  Milton 

6.  To  Milton William  Wordszuorth 

7.  The  Parting .......  Michael  Drayton    . 

8.  Easter  Morning Edmund  Spenser   . 

9.  Quatuor  Novissima      ....  William  Shakespeare 

10.  A  Lover's  Letters Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 

11.  Life's  Lessons George  Herbert . 

12.  Sad  and  Sweet Aubrey  de  Vere 

13.  To  the  Moon Sir  Philip  Sidney  . 

14.  The  Common  Grave    ....  Sidney  Dobell    . 

15.  To  his  Lute William  Drummond 

16.  Resignation  and  Despair       .      .  John  Donne 

17.  Last  Sonnet John  Keats  . 

18.  Retirement Henry  Kirke  White 

19.  Evening Owen  Meredith 

20.  Twilight Lord  Byron  . 

21.  Illusions William  Drummond 

22.  Sweet  and  Bitter Edmund  Spenser   . 


223 
224 

225 

225 
226 
226 
227 
22S 
228 
229 
230 
230 
231 
231 
232 

233 

233 
234 
235 
235 
236 

237 


10 


CONTENTS. 


23.  The  Nile Leigh  Hunt 237 

24.  In  San  Lorenzo A.  C.  Swinburne  ....  238 

25.  Her  Eyes Edmund  Spenser   ....  239 

26.  Cupid  and  Campaspe       .     .     .  John  Lyly 239 

27.  The  Grasshopper  and  the  Cricket  Leigh  Hunt 240 

28.  Fancy  in  Nubibus .S".  7".  Coleridge      .     .     .     .241 

Notes 241 

Lyrics  of  Life: 


9- 
10. 
II. 
12. 

13- 
14. 

16. 

'T- 
IS. 
19. 
20. 
21. 
22. 

23- 
24. 

25- 

26. 


Man's  Mortality 

The  Life  of  Man 

Life  and  the  P'lowers  .... 

The  Retreat 

The  Piper 

The    Romance   of    the    Swan's 

Nest 

A  Boy's  Song 

Youth  and  Age 

The  Spring  Journey    .... 

Over  the  Hill 

Youth  and  Age 

The  Stream  of  Life     .... 
A  Petition  to  Time      .... 

A  Proper  Man 

A  Proper  Woman 

The  Common  Lot 

The  Perfect  Life 

The  Contented  Mind  .... 

A  Wish 

A  Wish 

The  Character  of  a  Happy  Life 

The  Quiet  Life 

The  Kasy  Life 

Content 

Melancolia 

On  Melancholy 


Simon  Wastell . 
Francis  Beaumont 
George  Herbert . 
Henry  Vaughan 
William  Blake 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Bro-wning 
James  Hogg .     . 
Charles  Kingsley 
Reginald  Heber 
George  Alacdonald 
S.   T.  Coleridge 
Arthur  Hugh  Clough 
Bryan  Waller  Procter 
Ben  Jonson  . 
Thomas  Careiv . 
James  Montgomery 
Ben  Jonson . 
Joshua  Sylvester 
Abraham  Coivley 
Samuel  Rogers  . 
Sir  Henry  Wotton 
Alexander  Pope 
Robert  Her  rick  . 
Thomas  Dekker 
Francis  Beaumont 
Robert  Burton  . 


243 
244 

245 
246 

247 

248 
252 
253 
254 
255 
256 

258 
259 
260 
262 
262 
264 
264 
265 
266 
267 
268 
269 
270 
271 
272 


CONTENTS. 


11 


27.  Break,  Break,  Break   ....  Alfred  Tennyson    ....    274 

28.  The  Soul's  Errand       ....  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  ( ?)   .      .   274 

29.  The  Light  of  Other  Days      .      .      Thomas  Moore 277 

30.  John  Anderson Robert  Burns 278 

31.  Auld  Lang  Syne "  "         279 

32.  The  Land  of  the  Leal.      .      .     .     Lady  Nairne 280 

yt,.  Growing  Old Mattheiv  Arnold    .      .     .     .281 

34.  To  My  Grandmother  ....  Frederick  Locker- Lampson   .    283 

35.  Up-Hill Christina  Rossetti  ....   285 

36.  A  Parting  in  Dreamland .      .      .  jfohn  Addington  Symonds     .   286 

37.  The  Voyage  of  Life    ....  Francis  Qtiarles     ....   287 

38.  Crossing  the  Bar Alfred  Tennyson    ....   290 

39.  Life  and  Death Anna  Letitia  Barbaiild  .      .   290 

40.  Sweet  Peril George  Macdonald      .     .      .291 

41.  Death Percy  Bysshe  Shelley    .      .      .291 

42.  Sorrow  Song Sarjiuel  Rozuley 292 

43.  Death's  Triumph Jatnes  Shirley 293 

44.  To  Life's  Pilgrim Geoffrey  Chaucer    ....    294 

45.  Last  Lines Sir  Walter  Raleigh    .     .      .   294 

Notes 295 


Religious  Songs  and  Melodies  : 


Peace       

The  Heavenly  Jerusalem 

Sunday    

The  Virtuous  Soul       .... 

The  Flower 

The  Pulley 

Translation  of  the  23d  Psalm 

8.  The  Dying  Christian  to  his  Soul 

9.  Resignation 

10.  From  "  The  Waterfall "  .     .     . 

11.  The  Lilies  of  the  Field    .     .     . 

12.  Christ's  Coming  to  Jerusalem  in 

Triumph 

13.  The  Litany 


LLenry  Vaughn n     . 

.      .    298 

Anon 

•      •    299 

George  Herbert . 

•      •    301 

"            "... 

•      •    302 

"            "... 

•      •    303 

"            "... 

•      •    304 

Joseph  Addison .     .     . 

•      •    306 

Alexander  Pope 

•      •    307 

John  J^'eble  .... 

•      •    308 

"          "       .      .      .      . 

•     •   3" 

«         « 

•     .   312 

Jeremy  Taylor 

•     •   313 

Robert  /derrick  . 

•     •  313 

12  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

14.  A  Thanksgiving John  Henry  Nnuinan      .     .315 

15.  Christ  our  Example     ....      Charles  Wesley       .      .      .      .317 

16.  Easter  Hymn "  "  ....  318 

17.  An  Hymn  for  Seriousness     .     .     John  Wesley 320 

Miscellaneous  Lyrics: 

1.  Songs  from  "  The  Princess  "      .     Alfred  Te7inyson    ....  322 

2.  Music Robert  Herrick 325 

3.  Praise  of  Music JVilliam  Strode      ....  326 

4.  The  Spirit  of  Delight ....     Percy  Bysshe  Shelley   .     .     .  327 

5.  To  Echo John  Milton      .     .     .     .     .  329 

6.  The  Fairy  Queen Anon 329 

7.  As  I  lay  A-lhynkynge      .      .      .      Richard  Harris  Barliani       .  331 

8.  The  Palm-Tree  and  the  Pine     .     Lord Hoitghton },t,t, 

9.  The  Sands  of  Dee Charles  Kingsley    ....  333 

10.  Kubla  Khan S.  T.  Coleridge      ....  334 

11.  To  a  Lady,  with  a  Guitar      .     .     Percy  Bysshe  Shelley    .     .     .  336 

12.  David  playing  before  Saul    .     .     Robert  Brorvning  ....  339 

13.  Stanzas  from  Wine  of  Cyprus    .      Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  341 

14.  Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn     .     .     .     John  Keats 343 

15.  Invocation     to    the     Spirit    of 

Achilles Lord  Byron 345 

16.  Corinna  from  Athens,  to  Tanagra     Walter  Savage  I. andor    .     .  346 

17.  Arethusa Percy  Bysshe  Shelley   .     .     .  34S 

18.  The  Garden  of  Proserpine    .     .     A.  C.  Sivinburne  .     .     .     .351 

19.  Itylus "  "  ....  354 

20.  Byron's  Last  Poem      ....     L.ord  Byron 356 

21.  To  the  Muses jniliam  Blake       ....  358 

Notes 359 

Index  of  First  Lines 360 

Index  ok  Authors 3^4 


Songs  of  IRature  anb  tbc  Seasons, 


o'HHc 


So  goeth  the  poet  hand  in  hand  tuith  nature^  not  enclosed  within 
the  narrow  warrant  of  her  gifts,  but  freely  ranging  within  the 
zodiac  of  his  own  wit.  Nature  never  set  forth  the  earth  in  so 
rich  tapestry  as  divers  poets  have  done;  neither  with  pleasant 
rivers.,  fruitful  trees,  sweet-smelling  flowers,  nor  whatever  else 
may  make  the  too-tniich-loved  earth  jnore  lovely;  her  world  is 
brazen,  the  poets  only  deliver  a  golden.  —  Sir  Philip  Sidney. 


I. 

A   MORNING   SONG. 

Hark,  hark  !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise. 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chaHced  flowers  that  lies  ; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes  : 
With  every  thing  that  pretty  is. 

My  lady  sweet,  arise  : 

Arise,  arise. 

—  William   Shakespeare. 

13 


14  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 


DAWN-SONG. 

The  lark  now  leaves  his  watery  nest 

And,  climbing,  shakes  his  dewy  wings ; 

He  takes  this  window  for  the  East, 
And  to  implore  your  light,  he  sings. 

Awake  !  awake  !  the  morn  will  never  rise 
Till  she  can  dress  her  beauty  at  your  eyes. 

The  merchant  bows  unto  the  seaman's  star ; 

The  ploughman  from  the  sun  his  season  takes, 
But  still  the  lover  wonders  what  they  are 
Who  look  for  day  before  his  mistress  wakes. 

Awake  !  awake  !  break  through  your  veils  of  lawn  ! 
Then  draw  your  curtains,  and  begin  the  dawn. 

—  Sir  William  Davenant. 


3- 
MORNING. 


What  tongue  the  melodies  of  morn  can  tell  .-• 
The  wild-brook  babbling  down  the  mountain  side ; 
The  lowing  herd  ;  the  shcepfold's  simple  bell ; 
The  pipe  of  early  shepherd  dim  descried 
In  the  lone  valley ;  echoing  far  and  wide 
The  clamorous  horn  along  the  cliffs  above ; 
The  hollow  murmur  of  the  ocean-tide  ; 
The  hum  of  bees,  and  linnet's  lay  of  love, 
And  the  full  choir  that  wakes  the  universal  grove. 

The  cottage-curs  at  early  pilgrim  bark  ; 

Crown'd  with  her  pail,  the  tripping  milkmaid  sings  ; 


SONGS   OF  NAT  UK  £  AND    THE   SEASONS.  15 

The  whistling  ploughman  stalks  afield  ;  and,  hark  ! 
Down  the  rough  slope  the  ponderous  wagon  rings ; 
Thro'  rustling  corn  the  hare  astonish'd  springs ; 
Slow  tolls  the  village-clock  the  drowsy  hour ; 
The  partridge  bursts  away  on  whirring  wings  ; 
Deep  mourns  the  turtle  in  sequester'd  bower, 
And  shrill  lark  carols  clear  from  her  aerial  tower. 

—  James  Beattie. 

» 

4- 
A   GREETING. 

Pack  clouds,  away,  and  welcome  day, 

With  night  we  banish  sorrow  ; 
Sweet  air  blow  soft,  mount  larks  aloft 

To  give  my  Love  good-morrow  ; 
Wings  from  the  wind  to  please  her  mind 

Notes  from  the  lark  I'll  borrow; 
Bird  prune  thy  wing,  nightingale  sing, 

To  give  my  Love  good-morrow ; 
To  give  my  Love  good-morrow, 
Notes  from  them  both  I'll  borrow. 

Wake  from  thy  nest,  Robin  Redbreast, 

Sing  birds  in  every  furrow  ; 
And  from  each  hill  let  music  shrill 
Give  my  fair  Love  good-morrow  ! 
Blackbird  and  thrush  in  every  bush, 

Stare,  linnet,  and  cock-sparrow  ! 

You  pretty  Elves,  amongst  yourselves 

Sing  my  fair  Love  good-morrow : 

To  give  my  Love  good-morrow 

Sing  birds  in  every  furrow  ! 

—  Thomas  Heywood. 


16  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

5- 

MAY    MORNING. 

Now  the  bright  morning  star,  day's  harbinger, 
Comes  (lancing  from  the  l^ast,  and  leads  with  her 
The  flow'ry  May,  who  from  her  green  lap  throws 
The  yellow  cowslip,  and  the  pale  primrose. 
Hail,  bounteous  May  !  that  dost  inspire 
Mirth,  and  youth,  and  warm  desire; 
Woods  and  groves  are  of  thy  dressing. 
Hill  and  dale  doth  boast  thy  blessing. 
Thus  we  salute  thee  with  our  early  song, 
And  welcome  thee  and  wish  thee  long. 

—  John  Milton. 


HUNTING   SONG. 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day, 
All  the  jolly  chase  is  here. 
With  hawk,  and  horse,  and  hunting-spear! 
Hounds  are  in  their  couples  yelling,   • 
Hawks  are  whistling,  horns  are  knelling, 
Merrily,  merrily,  mingle  they, 
"Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 
The  mist  has  left  the  mountain  gray, 
Si)riii^lcts  in  the  dawn  are  steaming, 
Diamonds  on  the  brake  are  trleamine: : 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  17 

And  foresters  have  busy  been, 
To  track  the  buck  in  thickest  green  : 
Now  we  come  to  chant  our  lay, 
"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
To  the  green-wood  haste  away  ; 
We  can  show  you  where  he  lies, 
Fleet  of  foot,  and  tall  of  size  ; 
We  can  show  the  marks  he  made. 
When  'gainst  the  oak  his  antlers  frayed  ; 
You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay, 
"Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Louder,  louder  chant  the  lay. 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay! 

Tell  them  youth,  and  mirth,  and  glee, 

Run  a  course  as  well  as  we ; 

Time,  stern  huntsman  !  who  can  balk, 

Stanch  as  hound,  and  fleet  as  hawk ; 

Think  of  this,  and  rise  with  day, 

Gentle  lords  and  ladies  gay. 

—  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


7- 
MAY-DAY. 


Get  up,  get  up  for  shame !  the  blooming  morn 
Upon  her  wings  presents  the  god  unshorn. 
See  how  Aurora  throws  her  fair 
Fresh-quilted  colours  through  the  air : 


18  CHOICE  ENGLISH  lYRICS. 

Get  up,  sweet-slug-a-bed,  and  see 
The  dew  bespangling  herb  and  tree. 

Each  flower  has  wept,  and  bowed  toward  the  east, 

Above  an  hour  since  ;  yet  you  not  drest. 
Nay !  not  so  much  as  out  of  bed  ? 
When  all  the  birds  have  matins  said, 
And  sung  their  thankful  hymns  :   'tis  sin, 
Nay,  profanation,  to  keep  in,  — 

Whenas  a  thousand  virgins  on  this  day, 

Spring,  sooner  than  the  lark,  to  fetch  in  May. 

Rise ;  and  put  on  your  foliage,  and  be  seen 

To  come  forth,  like  the  Spring-time,  fresh  and  green, 

And  sweet  as  Flora.     Take  no  care 

For  jewels  for  your  gown  or  hair  : 

Fear  not ;  the  leaves  will  strew 

Gems  in  abundance  upon  you  : 
Besides,  the  childhood  of  the  day  has  kept, 
Against  you  come,  some  orient  pearls  unwept : 

Come,  and  receive  them  while  the  light 

Hangs  on  the  dew-locks  of  the  night : 

And  Titan  on  the  eastern  hill 

Retires  himself,  or  else  stands  still 
Till  you  come  forth.     Wash,  dress,  be  brief  in  praying 
Few  beads  arc  best,  when  once  we  go  a  Maying. 

Come,  my  Corinna,  come  ;  and  coming,  mark 
How  each  field  turns  a  street ;  each  street  a  park 

Made  green,  and  trimmed  with  trees  :  see  how 

Devotion  gives  each  house  a  bough 

Or  branch  :  each  porch,  each  door,  ere  this, 

An  ark,  a  tabernacle  is 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  19 

Made  up  of  white-thorn  neatly  interwove ; 
As  if  here  were  those  cooler  shades  of  love. 

Can  such  delights  be  in  the  street, 

And  open  fields,  and  we  not  see't  ? 

Come,  we'll  abroad  :  and  let's  obey 

The  proclamation  made  for  May : 
And  sin  no  more,  as  we  have  done,  by  staying ; 
But,  my  Corinna,  come,  let's  go  a  Maying. 

There's  not  a  budding  boy  or  girl,  this  day, 
But  is  got  up,  and  gone  to  bring  in  May. 

A  deal  of  youth,  ere  this,  is  come 

Back,  and  with  white-thorn  laden  home. 

Some  have  dispatched  their  cakes  and  cream, 

Before  that  we  have  left  to  dream  : 
And  some  have  wept,  and  woo'd,  and  plighted  troth, 
And  chose  their  priest,  ere  we  can  cast  off  sloth  : 

Many  a  green-gown  has  been  given  ; 

Many  a  kiss,  both  odd  and  even  : 

Many  a  glance,  too,  has  been  sent 

From  out  the  eye,  love's  firmament : 
Many  a  jest  told  of  the  keys  betraying 
This  night,  and  locks  picked:— yet  we're  not  a  Maying. 

—  Come,  let  us  go,  while  we  are  in  our  prime ; 
And  take  the  harmless  folly  of  the  time  ! 

We  shall  grow  old  apace,  and  die 

Before  we  know  our  liberty. 

Our  life  is  short ;  and  our  days  run 

As  fast  away  as  does  the  sun  :  — 
And  as  a  vapour,  or  a  drop  of  rain 
Once  lost,  can  ne'er  be  found  again : 


20  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

So  when  or  you  or  I  are  made 

A  fable,  song,  or  fleeting  shade  : 

All  love,  all  liking,  all  delight 

Lies  drowned  with  us  in  endless  night. 
—  Then  while  time  serves,  and  we  are  but  decaying, 
Come,  my  Corinna !  come,  let's  go  a  Maying. 

—  Robert  Herrick. 


8. 

THE   STORY   OF   A   SUMMER   DAY. 

O  PERFECT  Light,  which  shaid  away 
The  darkness  from  the  light. 
And  set  a  ruler  o'er  the  day, 
Another  o'er  the  night ; 

Thy  glory,  when  the  day  forth  flies, 
More  vively  does  appear, 
Than  at  midday  unto  our  eyes 
The  shining  sun  is  clear. 

The  shadow  of  the  earth  anon 
Removes  and  drawes  by. 
While  in  the  east,  when  it  is  gone, 
Appears  a  clearer  sky. 

Which  soon  perceive  the  little  larks. 
The  lapwing  and  the  snipe, 
And  tune  their  songs,  like  Nature's  clerks, 
O'er  nicaduw,  nuiir,  und  stripe. 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  21 

.  Our  hemisphere  is  polished  clean, 
And  lightened  more  and  more ; 
While  everything  is  clearly  seen, 
Which  seemed  dim  before : 

Except  the  glistering  astres  bright. 
Which  all  the  night  were  clear, 
Offusked  with  a  greater  light 
No  longer  do  appear. 

The  golden  globe  incontinent 
Sets  up  his  shining  head, 
And  o'er  the  earth  and  firmament 
Displays  his  beams  abread. 

For  joy  the  birds  with  boulden  throats 
Against  his  visage  sheen 
Take  up  their  kindly  music  notes 
In  woods  and  gardens  green. 

The  dew  upon  the  tender  crops, 
Like  pearls  white  and  round, 
Or  like  to  melted  silver  drops. 
Refreshes  all  the  ground. 

The  misty  reek,  the  clouds  of  rain 
From  tops  of  mountains  skails, 
Clear  are  the  highest  hills  and  plain. 
The  vapours  take  the  vales. 

The  ample  heaven,  of  fabric  sure, 
In  cleanness  does  surpass 
The  crystal  and  the  silver  pure, 
Or  clearest  polished  glass. 


22  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

The  time  so  tranquil  is  and  still, 
That  no  where  shall  ye  find, 
Save  on  a  high  and  barren  hill, 
An  air  of  peeping  wind. 

All  trees  and  simples,  great  and  small, 
That  balmy  leaf  do  bear. 
Than  they  were  painted  on  a  wall, 
No  more  they  move  or  steir. 

Calm  is  the  deep  and  purple  sea. 
Yea,  smoother  than  the  sand  ; 
The  waves,  that  weltering  wont  to  be. 
Are  stable  like  the  land. 

So  silent  is  the  cessile  air. 
That  every  cry  and  call, 
The  hills  and  dales  and  forest  fair 
Again  repeats  them  all. 

The  flourishes  and  fragrant  flowers, 
Through  Phcebus'  fostering  heat, 
Refreshed  with  dew  and  silver  showers. 
Cast  up  an  odour  sweet. 

The  clogged  busy  humming  bees. 
That  never  think  to  drone. 
On  flowers  ami  llourishcs  of  trees. 
Collect  their  liqut)r  brown. 

The  sun,  most  like  a  speedy  post, 
With  ardent  course  ascends  ; 
The  beauty  of  the  heavenly  host 
Up  to  our  zenith  tends; 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE  SEASONS.  23 

Not  guided  by  a  Phaethon, 
Not  trained  in  a  chair, 
But  by  the  high  and  holy  One, 
Who  does  all  where  empire. 

The  burning  beams  down  from  his  face 
So  fervently  can  beat, 
That  man  and  beast  now  seek  a  place 
To  save  them  from  the  heat. 

The  herds  beneath  some  leafy  tree, 
Amidst  the  flowers  they  lie  ; 
The  stable  ships  upon  the  sea 
Tend  up  their  sails  to  dry. 

With  gilded  eyes  and  open  wings, 
The  cock  his  courage  shows  ; 
With  claps  of  joy  his  breast  he  dings, 
And  twenty  times  he  crows. 

The  dove  with  whistling  wings  so  blue 
The  winds  can  fast  collect, 
Her  purple  pens  turn  many  a  hue 
Against  the  sun  direct. 

Now  noon  is  went ;  gone  is  midday. 
The  heat  does  slake  at  last. 
The  sun  descends  down  west  away, 
For  three  of  clock  is  past. 

The  rayons  of  the  sun  we  see 
Diminish  in  their  strength, 
The  shade  of  every  tower  and  tree 
Extended  is  in  length. 


24  CHOICE   EXGIJSII  LYRICS. 

Great  is  the  calm,  for  everywhere 
The  wind  is  setting  down, 
The  reek  throws  right  up  in  the  air 
From  every  tower  and  town. 

The  gloaming  comes,  the  day  is  spent, 
The  sun  goes  out  of  sight, 
And  painted  is  the  Occident 
With  purple  sanguine  bright. 

The  scarlet  nor  the  golden  thread, 
Who  would  their  beauty  try, 
Are  nothing  like  the  colour  red 
And  beauty  of  the  sky. 

Our  w'est  horizon  circular, 
From  time  the  sun  be  set, 
Is  all  with  rubies,  as  it  were, 
Or  roses  red  o'crfret. 

What  pleasure  were  to  walk  and  see, 
Endlong  a  river  clear. 
The  perfect  form  of  every  tree 
Within  the  deep  appear. 

Oh,  then  it  were  a  seemly  thing, 
While  all  is  still  and  calm, 
The  praise  of  God  to  play  and  sing 
With  cornet  and  with  shalm  ! 

All  labourers  draw  home  at  even. 
And  can  to  other  say. 
Thanks  to  the  gracious  God  of  heaven, 
Which  sent  this  summer  day. 

—  Alexander  Hume. 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  25 

9- 

HOLIDAY   IN   ARCADIA. 

Woodmen,  shepherds,  come  away, 
This  is  Pan's  great  hoHday ; 

Throw  off  cares, 
With  your  heaven-aspiring  airs 

Help  us  to  sing, 
While  valleys  with  your  echoes  ring. 

Nymphs  that  dwell  within  these  groves, 
Leave  your  arbours,  bring  your  loves, 

Gather  posies. 
Crown  your  golden  hair  with  roses ; 

As  you  pass, 
Foot  like  fairies  on  the  grass. 

Joy  crown  our  bowers  !     Philomel, 
Leave  of  Tereus'  rape  to  tell. 

Let  trees  dance. 
As  they  at  Thracian  lyre  did  once ; 

Mountains  play. 
This  is  the  shepherds'  holiday. 

—  James  Shirley. 


lO. 

AFTER   RAIN. 

The  cock  is  crowing. 
The  stream  is  flowing, 
The  small  birds  twitter, 
The  lake  doth  glitter. 


26  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

The  green  field  sleeps  in  the  sun ; 
The  oldest  and  youngest 
Are  at  work  with  the  strongest; 
The  cattle  are  grazing, 
Their  heads  never  raising  ; 

There  are  forty  feeding  like  one ! 

Like  an  army  defeated 

The  snow  hath  retreated, 

And  now  doth  fare  ill 

On  the  top  of  the  bare  hill ; 
The  plough-boy  is  whooping  —  anon  —  anon  ; 

There's  joy  in  the  mountains  ; 

There's  life  in  the  fountains ; 

Small  clouds  are  sailing ; 

Blue  sky  prevailing ; 
The  rain  is  over  and  gone ! 

—  William  Wordsworth. 


UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  TREE. 

Under  the  greenwood  tree 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
And  turn  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat. 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither : 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  27 

Who  doth  ambition  shun 
And  loves  to  live  i'  the  sun, 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither : 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

—  William  Shakespeare. 


12. 

EVENING. 


If  aught  of  oaten  stop  or  pastoral  song 

May  hope,  chaste  Eve,  to  soothe  thy  modest  ear 

Like  thy  own  solemn  springs. 

Thy  springs,  and  dying  gales  ; 

O  Nymph  reserved, —  while  now  the  bright-hair'd  sun 
Sits  in  yon  western  tent,  whose  cloudy  skirts 
With  brede  ethereal  wove, 
O'erhang  his  wavy  bed. 

Now  air  is  hush'd,  save  where  the  weak-eyed  bat 
With  short  shrill  shriek  flits  by  on  leathern  wing, 
Or  where  the  beetle  winds 
His  small  but  sullen  horn. 

As  oft  he  rises  midst  the  twilight  path. 
Against  the  pilgrim  borne  in  heedless  hum, — 
Now  teach  me,  maid  composed. 
To  breathe  some  soften'd  strain 


28  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Whose  numbers,  stealing  through  thy  dark'ning  vale, 
May  not  unseemly  with  its  stillness  suit ; 
As  musing  slow  I  hail 
Thy  genial  love  return. 

For  when  thy  folding-star  arising  shows 
His  paly  circlet,  at  his  warning  lamp 
The  fragrant  Hours,  and  Elves 
Who  slept  in  buds  the  day. 

And  many   a   Nymph   who  wreathes   her   brows  with 

sedge 
And  sheds  the  freshening  dew,  and  lovelier  still 
The  pensive  Pleasures  sweet. 
Prepare  thy  shadowy  car. 

Then  let  me  rove  some  wild  and  heathy  scene; 
Or  find  some  ruin  midst  its  dreary  dells, 
Whose  walls  more  awful  nod 
liy  thy  religious  gleams. 

Or  if  chill  blustering  winds  or  driving  rain 
Prevent  my  willing  feet,  be  mine  the  hut 
That,  from  the  mountain's  side. 
Views  wilds  and  swelling  floods, 

And  hamlets  brown,  and  dim-discover'd  spires  ; 
And  hears  their  simple  bell ;  and  marks  o'er  all 
Thy  dewy  fingers  draw 
The  gradual  dusky  veil. 

While  Spring  shall  \)i^wx  his  showers,  as  oft  he  wont, 
And  bathe  thy  breathing  tresses,  meekest  Eve ! 
While  Summer  loves  to  sport 
Beneath  thy  lingering  light ; 


SON-GS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  29 

While  sallow  Autumn  fills  thy  lap  with  leaves  ; 
Or  Winter,  yelling  through  the  troublous  air, 
Affrights  thy  shrinking  train 
And  rudely  rends  thy  robes ; 

So  long,  regardful  of  thy  quiet  rule. 

Shall  Fancy,  Friendship,  Science,  smiling  Peace, 

Thy  gentlest  influence  own, 

And  love  thy  favorite  name  ! 

— William  Collins. 


13- 

EVENING   SONG. 

Shepherds  all,  and  maidens  fair, 
Fold  your  flocks  up,  for  the  air 
'Gins  to  thicken,  and  the  sun 
Already  his  great  course  hath  run. 
See  the  dew-drops  how  they  kiss 
Every  little  flower  that  is, 
Hanging  on  their  velvet  heads, 
Like  a  rope  of  crystal  beads  : 
See  the  heavy  clouds  low  falling. 
And  bright  Hesperus  down  calling 
The  dead  Night  from  under  ground ; 
At  whose  rising,  mists  unsound, 
Damps  and  vapors  fly  apace. 
Hovering  o'er  the  wanton  face 
Of  these  pastures,  where  they  come, 
Striking  dead  both  bud  and  bloom : 
Therefore,  from  such  danger  lock 
Every  one  his  loved  flock ; 


:^0  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

And  let  your  dogs  lie  loose  without, 
Lest  the  wolf  come  as  a  scout 
From  the  mountain,  and,  ere  day, 
Bear  a  lamb  or  kid  away  ; 
Or  the  crafty  thievish  fox 
Break  upon  your  simple  flocks. 
To  secure  yourselves  from  these. 
Be  not  too  secure  in  ease ; 
Let  one  eye  his  watches  keep, 
Whilst  the  other  eye  doth  sleep ; 
So  you  shall  good  shepherds  prove. 
And  for  ever  hold  the  love 
Of  our  great  god.     Sweetest  slumbers. 
And  soft  silence,  fall  in  numbers 
On  your  eyelids  !     So,  farewell ! 
Thus  I  end  my  evening's  knell. 

— John  Fletcher. 


14. 

TO    DIANA. 

Hail,  beauteous  Dian,  queen  of  shades, 
That  dwell'st  beneath  these  shadowy  glades, 
Mistress  of  all  those  beauteous  maids 

That  are  by  her  allowed. 
Virginity  w^c  all  profess. 
Abjure  the  worldly  vain  excess, 
And  will  to  Dian  yield  no  less 

Than  we  to  her  have  vowed. 
The  shepherds,  satyrs,  nymphs,  and  fawns, 
For  thee  will  trip  it  o'er  the  lawns. 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE  SEASONS.  31 

Come,  to  the  forest  let  us  go, 
And  trip  it  like  the  barren  doe  ; 
The  fawns  and  satyrs  still  do  so, 

And  freely  thus  they  may. 
The  fairies  dance  and  satyrs  sing. 
And  on  the  grass  tread  many  a  ring. 
And  to  their  caves  their  ven'son  bring ; 

And  we  will  do  as  they. 

The  shepherds,  satyrs,  &c.,  &c. 

Our  food  is  honey  from  the  bees, 

And  mellow  fruits  that  drop  from  trees ; 

In  chace  we  climb  the  high  degrees 

Of  every  steepy  mountain. 
And  when  the  weary  day  is  past. 
We  at  the  evening  hie  us  fast. 
And  after  this,  our  field  repast. 

We  drink  the  pleasant  fountain. 

The  shepherds,  satyrs,  &c.,  &c. 

—  Thomas  Heywood. 


IS- 

EVENING  HYMN. 

The  night  is  come,  like  to  the  day ; 
Depart  not  Thou,  great  God,  away. 
Let  not  my  sins,  black  as  the  night, 
Eclipse  the  lustre  of  thy  light. 
Keep  still  in  my  horizon  ;  for  to  me 
The  sun  makes  not  the  day,  but  Thee. 
Thou  whose  nature  cannot  sleep. 
On  my  temples  sentry  keep  ! 


32  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Guard  me  'gainst  those  watchful  foes, 

Whose  eyes  arc  open  while  mine  close ; 

Let  no  dreams  my  head  infest, 

But  such  as  Jacob's  temples  blest. 

While  I  do  rest,  my  soul  advance; 

Make  my  sleep  a  holy  trance, 

That  I  may,  my  rest  being  wrought, 

Awake  into  some  holy  thought ; 

And  with  as  active  vigour  run 

My  course  as  doth  the  nimble  sun. 

Sleep  is  a  death  ;  oh  !  make  me  try, 

By  sleeping,  what  it  is  to  die  ; 

And  as  gently  lay  my  head 

On  my  grave,  as  now  my  bed. 

Howe'er  I  rest,  great  God,  let  me 

Awake  again  at  last  with  Thee. 

And  thus  assured,  behold  I  lie 

Securely,  or  to  wake  or  die. 

These  are  my  drowsy  days ;  in  vain 

I  do  now  wake  to  sleep  again  : 

Oh !  come  that  hour,  when  I  shall  never 

Sleep  again,  but  wake  for  ever. 

—  Sir  Thomas  Browne. 


i6. 
SERENADE. 


The  day  is  down  into  his  bower ; 

In  languid  lights  his  feet  he  steeps; 
The  flush'd  sky  darkens,  low  and  lower. 

And  closes  on  the  glowing  deeps. 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  33 

In  creeping  curves  of  yellow  foam 
Up  shallow  sands  the  waters  slide ; 

And  warmly  blow  what  whispers  roam 
From  isle  to  isle  the  lulled  tide  ; 

The  boats  are  drawn  ;   the  nets  drip  bright  ; 

Dark  casements  gleam  ;  old  songs  are  sung ; 
And  out  upon  the  verge  of  night 

Green  lights  from  lonely  rocks  are  hung. 

O  winds  of  eve  that  somewhere  rove 
Where  darkest  sleeps  the  distant  sea, 

Seek  out  where  haply  dreams  my  love, 
And  whisper  all  her  dreams  to  me  ! 

—  Owen  Meredith  (Lord  Lytton). 


17- 
SLUMBER-SONG. 

Care-charming  Sleep,  thou  easer  of  all  woes, — 

Brother  to  Death,  sweetly  thyself  dispose 

On  this  afflicted  prince  ;  fall  like  a  cloud 

In  gentle  showers ;   give  nothing  that  is  loud 

Or  painful  to  his  slumbers  ;  —  easy,  sweet, 

And  as  a  purling  stream,  thou  son  of  Night, 

Pass  by  his  troubled  senses :  —  sing  his  pain 

Like  hollow  murmuring  wind,  or  silver  rain. 

Into  this  prince  gently,  oh,  gently  slide. 

And  kiss  him  into  slumbers  like  a  bride ! 

—  John  Fletcher. 
c 


34  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 


I«. 


INVOCATION    TO   SLEEP. 

Come,  Sleep,  and  with  thy  sweet  deceiving 

Lock  me  in  dehght  awhile  ; 

Let  some  pleasing  dreams  beguile 

All  my  fancies  ;  that  from  thence 

I  may  feel  an  influence, 
All  my  powers  of  care  bereaving ! 

Though  but  a  shadow,  but  a  sliding, 

Let  me  know  some  little  joy ! 

We  that  suffer  long  annoy 

Are  contented  with  a  thought, 

Through  an  idle  fancy  wrought ; 
Oh,  let  my  joys  have  some  abiding ! 

—  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 


19. 

THE   YOUNG    MAY    MOON. 

The  young  May  moon  is  beaming,  love. 
The  glow-worm's  lamp  is  gleaming,  love, 

How  sweet  to  rove 

Through  Morna's  grove, 
When  the  drowsy  world  is  dreaming,  love  ! 
Then  awake  !  —  the  heavens  look  bright,  my  dear,. 
'Tis  never  too  late  for  delight,  my  dear, 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  35 

And  the  best  of  all  ways 
To  lengthen  our  days 
Is  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  my  dear. 

Now  all  the  world  is  sleeping,  love, 

But  the  Sage,  his  star-watch  keeping,  love, 

And  I  whose  star. 

More  glorious  far, 
Is  the  eye  from  that  casement  peeping,  love. 
Then  awake  !  —  till  rise  of  sun,  my  dear. 
The  Sage's  glass  we'll  shun,  my  dear. 

Or,  in  watching  the  flight 

Of  bodies  of  light, 
He  might  happen  to  take  thee  for  one,  my  dear. 

—  Thomas  Moore. 


20. 


NIGHT   IN   THE   DESERT. 

How  beautiful  is  night ! 
A  dewy  freshness  fills  the  silent  air ; 
No  mist  obscures,  nor  cloud,  nor  speck,  nor  stain, 
Breaks  the  serene  of  heaven  : 
In  full-orbed  glory  yonder  moon  divine 
Rolls  through  the  dark  blue  depths. 
Beneath  her  steady  ray 
The  desert-circle  spreads. 
Like  the  round  ocean,  girdled  with  the  sky. 
How  beautiful  is  night ! 

—  Robert  Southey. 


36  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 


THE   WORLD'S   WANDERERS. 

Teli,  me,  thou  star,  whose  wings  of  light 
Speed  thee  in  thy  fiery  flight. 
In  what  cavern  of  the  night 

Will  thy  pinions  close  now  ? 

Tell  me,  moon,  thou  pale  and  gray 
Pilgrim  of  heaven's  homeless  way, 
In  what  depth  of  night  or  day 
Seekest  thou  repose  now  ? 

Weary  wind,  who  wandercst 
Like  the  world's  rejected  guest. 
Hast  thou  still  some  secret  nest 
On  the  tree  or  billow  ? 

—  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


TO   THE   MOON  — A    FRAGMENT. 

Art  thou  pale  for  weariness 
Of  climbing  heaven,  and  gazing  on  the  earth, 

Wandering  comj^anionless 
Among  the  stars  that  have  a  different  birth,- 

And  ever  changing,  like  a  joyless  eye 

That  finds  no  object  worth  its  constancy.-' 

Thou  chosen  sister  of  the  sj-jirit, 

That  gazes  on  thee  till  in  thee  it  pities.  .  .  . 
—  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  37 

23- 

THE   COMING   OF    SPRING. 

Summer  is  i-cumen  in, 
Lhude  sing,  cuccu ; 
Groweth  sed,  and  bloweth  med, 
And  springeth  the  wde  nu. 

Sing,  cuccu,  cuccu ! 
Awe  bleteth  after  lamb, 
Louth  after  calve  cu, 
Bulluc  sterteth,  bucke  verteth, 

Murie  sing,  cuccu. 

Well  sings  the  cuccu, 
Ne  swik  thou  never  nu. 

Sing,  cuccu,  nu. 

Sing,  cuccu. 

—  Anon,  {i^th  Century). 


24. 
SPRING. 


Spring,  the  sweet  Spring,  is  the  year's  pleasant  king ; 
Then  blooms  each  thing,  then  maids  dance  in  a  ring. 
Cold  doth  not  sting,  the  pretty  birds  do  sing. 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo  ! 

The  palm  and  May  make  country  houses  gay ; 
Lambs  frisk  and  play,  the  shepherds  pipe  all  day. 
And  we  hear  aye  birds  tune  this  merry  lay, 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo! 

1  f^riQ  fi  o 


38  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

The  fields  breathe  sweet,  the  daisies  kiss  our  feet, 
Young  lovers  meet,  old  wives  a  sunning  sit, 
In  every  street  these  tunes  our  ears  do  greet, 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo  ! 
Spring  !  the  sweet  Spring  ! 

—  Thomas  Nash. 


25- 
TO   BLOSSOMS. 

Fair  pledges  of  a  fruitful  tree, 

Why  do  ye  fall  so  fast  ? 

Your  date  is  not  so  past, 
But  you  may  stay  yet  here  awhile 

To  blush  and  gently  smile, 
And  go  at  last. 

What,  were  ye  born  to  be, 

An  hour  or  half's  delight, 

And  so  to  bid  good-night } 
'Twas  pity  Nature  brought  ye  forth 

Merely  to  show  your  worth, 
And  lose  you  quite. 

But  you  are  lovely  leaves,  where  we 
May  read  how  soon  things  have 
Their  end,  though  ne'er  so  brave ; 

And  after  they  have  shown  their  pride, 

Like  you,  awhile,  they  glide 

Into  the  grave. 

—  Robert  Herrick. 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  39 

26. 

A   SPRING    IDYLL. 

This  day,  Dame  Nature  seem'd  in  love ! 
The  lusty  sap  began  to  move ; 
Fresh  juice  did  stir  th'  embracing  vines ; 
And  birds  had  drawn  their  valentines. 
Already  were  the  eaves  possess'd 
With  the  swift  pilgrim's  daubed  nest ; 
The  groves  already  did  rejoice 
In  Philomel's  triumphing  voice  ; 
The  show'rs  were  short ;  the  weather  mild ; 
The  morning  fresh  ;  the  evening  smil'd. 

Joan  takes  her  neat-rubbed  pail,  and  now 
She  trips  to  milk  the  sand-red  cow, 
Where,  for  some  sturdy  foot-ball  swain, 
She  strokes  a  syllabub  or  twain. 
The  fields  and  gardens  were  beset 
With  tulip,  crocus,  violet ; 
And  now,  though  late,  the  modest  rose 
Did  more  than  half  a  blush  disclose. 

Thus  all  looks  gay  and  full  of  cheer, 

To  welcome  the  new-liveried  year. 

—  Sir  Henry  Wotton. 


27. 
TO   DAFFADILS. 

Fair  Daffadils,  we  weep  to  see 
You  haste  away  so  soon ; 

As  yet  the  early-rising  sun 
Has  not  attain'd  his  noon. 


40  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Stay,  Stay, 
Until  the  hasting  day 

Has  run 
But  to  the  even-song ; 
And,  having  pray'd  together,  we 
Will  go  with  you  along. 

We  have  short  time  to  stay,  as  you ; 

We  have  as  short  a  spring ; 
As  quick  a  growth  to  meet  decay, 
As  you,  or  anything. 
We  die 
As  your  hours  do,  and  dry 

Away, 
Like  to  the  summer's  rain  ; 
Or  as  the  pearls  of  morning's  dew. 
Ne'er  to  be  found  again. 

—  Robert  Herrick 


28. 

TO   THE   LARK. 

Good  speed,  for  I  this  day 
Betimes  my  matins  say. 
Because  I  do 
Begin  to  woo. 
Sweet  singing  Lark, 
Be  thou  the  clerk. 
And  know  thy  when 
To  say  Amen. 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  41 

And  if  I  prove 

Blest  in  my  love, 

Then  thou  shalt  be 

High  Priest  to  me, 

At  my  return 

To  incense  burn, 
And  so  to  solemnise 
Love's  and  my  sacrifice. 

—  Robert  Herrick. 


29. 

ODE   TO   THE   CUCKOO. 

Hail,  beauteous  stranger  of  the  grove ! 
Thou  messenger  of  spring  ! 
Now  Heaven  repairs  thy  rural  seat, 
And  woods  thy  welcome  sing. 

What  time  the  daisy  decks  the  green, 
Thy  certain  voice  we  hear ; 
Hast  thou  a  star  to  guide  thy  path, 
Or  mark  the  rolling  year .-' 

Delightful  visitant !  with  thee 
I  hail  the  time  of  flowers, 
And  hear  the  sound  of  music  sweet 
From  birds  among  the  bowers. 

The  schoolboy,  wandering  through  the  wood 
To  pull  the  primrose  gay. 
Starts,  the  new  voice  of  spring  to  hear. 
And  imitates  thy  lay. 


42  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

What  time  the  pea  puts  on  the  bloom, 
Thou  fliest  thy  vocal  vale, 
An  annual  guest  in  other  lands. 
Another  spring  to  hail. 

Sweet  bird  !   thy  bower  is  ever  green, 
Thy  sky  is  ever  clear ; 
Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  song. 
No  winter  in  thy  year ! 

Oh,  could  I  fly,  I'd  fly  with  thee! 
We'd  make,  with  joyful  wing. 
Our  annual  visit  o'er  the  globe, 
Companions  of  the  spring. 

—  Michael  Bruce. 


SO- 
TO  THE   CUCKOO. 

0  BLITHE  new-comer !  I  have  heard, 

1  hear  thee  and  rejoice  : 

O  Cuckoo !  shall  I  call  thee  bird, 
Or  but  a  wandering  Voice  .'' 

While  I  am  lying  on  the  grass. 
Thy  twofold  shout  I  hear ; 
From  hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  pass. 
At  once  far  off  and  near. 

Though  babbling  only  to  the  vale 
Of  sunshine  and  of  flowers. 
Thou  bringest  unto  me  a  tale 
Of  visionary  hours. 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  43 

Thrice  welcome,  darling  of  the  Spring ! 

Even  yet  thou  art  to  me 

No  bird,  but  an  invisible  thing, 

A  voice,  a  mystery  ; 

The  same  whom  in  my  school-boy  days 
I  listened  to  ;  that  Cry 
Which  made  me  look  a  thousand  ways 
In  bush,  and  tree,  and  sky. 

To  seek  thee  did  I  often  rove 
Through  woods  and  on  the  green ; 
And  thou  wert  stifl  a  hope,  a  love ; 
Still  longed  for,  never  seen  ! 

And  I  can  listen  to  thee  yet ; 
Can  lie  upon  the  plain 
And  listen,  till  I  do  beget 
That  golden  time  again. 

O  blessed  bird !  the  earth  we  pace 
Again  appears  to  be 
An  unsubstantial,  fairy  place 
That  is  fit  home  for  thee  ! 

—  William  Wordsworth. 


31- 
TO   THE   DAISY. 

With  little  here  to  do  or  see 
Of  things  that  in  the  great  world  be, 
Sweet  Daisy !  oft  I  talk  to  thee 
For  thou  art  worthy. 


44  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Thou  unassuming  commonplace 
Of  Nature,  with  that  homely  face, 
And  yet  with  something  of  a  grace 
Which  love  makes  for  thee ! 

Oft  on  the  dappled  turf  at  ease 

I  sit  and  play  with  similes, 

Loose  types  of  things  through  all  degrees. 

Thoughts  of  thy  raising  ; 
And  many  a  fond  and  idle  name 
I  give  to  thee,  for  praise  or  blame 
As  is  the  humor  of  the  game, 

While  I  am  gazing. 

A  nun  demure,  of  lowly  port ; 

Or  sprightly  maiden,  of  love's  court, 

In  thy  simplicity  the  sport 

Of  all  temptations  ; 
A  queen  in  crown  of  rubies  drest ; 
A  starveling  in  a  scanty  vest ; 
Are  all,  as  seems  to  suit  thee  best, 

Thy  appellations. 

A  little  Cyclops,  with  one  eye 

Staring  to  threaten  and  defy, 

That  thought  comes  next  —  and  instantly 

The  freak  is  over, 
The    shape  will  vanish,  and  behold  ! 
A  silver  shield  with  boss  of  gold 
That  spreads  itself,  some  fairy  bold 

In  fight  to  cover. 

I  see  thee  glittering  from  afar  — 
And  then  thou  art  a  pretty  star, 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  45 

Not  quite  so  fair  as  many  are 

In  heaven  above  thee  ! 
Yet  like  a  star,  with  glittering  crest, 
Self-poised  in  air  thou  seem'st  to  rest ;  — 
May  peace  come  never  to  his  nest 

Who  shall  reprove  thee ! 

Sweet  Flower  !  for  by  that  name  at  last 

When  all  my  reveries  are  past 

I  call  thee,  and  to  that  cleave  fast, 

Sweet  silent  Creature ! 
That  breath'st  with  me  in  sun  and  air, 
Do  thou,  as  thou  art  wont,  repair 
My  heart  with  gladness,  and  a  share 

Of  thy  meek  nature  ! 

—  William  Wordsworth. 


32. 
ALMOND    BLOSSOM. 

Blossom  of  the  almond  trees, 
April's  gift  to  April's  bees. 
Birthday  ornament  of  spring. 
Flora's  fairest  daughterling ; 
Coming  when  no  flowerets  dare 
Trust  the  cruel  outer  air ; 
When  the  royal  kingcup  bold 
Dares  not  don  his  coat  of  gold ; 
And  the  sturdy  black-thorn  spray 
Keeps  his  silver  for  the  May;  — 
Coming  when  no  flowerets  would. 
Save  thy  lowly  sisterhood, 


46  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Early  violets,  blue  and  white, 

Dying  for  their  love  of  light. 

Almond  blossom,  sent  to  teach  us 

That  the  spring-days  soon  will  reach  us, 

Lest,  with  longing  over-tried, 

We  die  as  the  violets  died  — 

Blossom,  clouding  all  the  tree 

With  thy  crimson  broidery, 

Long  before  a  leaf  of  green 

O'er  the  bravest  bough  is  seen ; 

Ah !  when  winter  winds  are  swinging 

All  thy  red  bells  into  ringing. 

With  a  bee  in  every  bell, 

Almond  blossom,  we  greet  thee  well. 

—  Edwin  Arnold. 


33- 
THE    FLY. 


Busy,  curious,  thirsty  fly, 
Drink  with  me,  and  drink  as  I ; 
Freely  welcome  to  my  cup, 
Couldst  thou  sip,  and  sip  it  up. 
Make  the  most  of  life  you  may ; 
Life  is  short,  and  wears  away. 

Both  alike  are  mine  and  thine. 
Hastening  quick  to  their  decline  ; 
Thine's  a  summer,  mine's  no  more, 
Though  repeated  to  threescore  ; 
Threescore  summers,  when  they're  gone, 
Will  appear  as  short  as  one. 

—  William  Oldys. 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS. 

34- 

THE   TIGER. 

Tiger  !  Tiger  !  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night, 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Fram'd  thy  fearful  symmetry? 

In  what  distant  deeps  or  skies 
Burn'd  the  fervor  of  thine  eyes  ? 
On  what  wings  dar'd  he  aspire  — 
What  the  hand  dar'd  seize  the  fire  ? 

And  what  shoulder  and  what  art 
Could  twist  the  sinews  of  thy  heart? 
When  thy  heart  began  to  beat, 
What  dread  hand  lorm'd  thy  dread  feet  ? 

What  the  hammer,  what  the  chain 
Formed  thy  strength  and  forged  thy  brain  ? 
What  the  anvil  ?     What  dread  grasp 
Dar'd  thy  deadly  terrors  clasp  ? 

When  the  stars  threw  down  their  spears, 
And  sprinkled  heav'n  with  shining  tears, 
Did  He  smile,  his  work  to  see  ? 
Did  He  who  made  the  lamb  make  thee  ? 

—  William  Blake. 

♦ 

35- 

THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

As  it  fell  upon  the  day 
In  the  merry  month  of  May, 
Sitting  in  a  pleasant  shade 
Which  a  grove  of  myrtles  made, 


48  CHOICE   F.NGIJSH  LYRICS. 

Beasts  did  leap  and  birds  did  sing, 

Trees  did  grow  and  plants  did  spring, 

Everything  did  banish  moan 

Save  the  nightingale  alone. 

She,  poor  bird,  as  all  forlorn, 

Lean'd  her  breast  against  a  thorn. 

And  there  sung  the  dolefullest  ditty 

That  to  hear  it  was  great  pity. 

Fie,  fie,  fie,  now  would  she  cry ; 

Tereu,  tereu,  by  and  by : 

That  to  hear  her  so  complain 

Scarce  I  could  from  tears  refrain ; 

For  her  griefs  so  lively  shown 

Made  me  think  upon  mine  own. 

—  Ah,  thought  I,  thou  mournst  in  vain, 

None  takes  pity  on  thy  pain  : 

Senseless  trees,  they  cannot  hear  thee, 

Ruthless  beasts,  they  will  not  cheer  thee ; 

King  Pandion,  he  is  dead, 

All  thy  friends  are  lapp'd  in  lead  : 

All  thy  fellow  birds  do  sing 

Careless  of  thy  sorrowing  : 

Even  so,  poor  bird,  like  thee 

None  alive  will  pity  mc. 

—  Richard  Baknfield. 


36. 
TO  A  WATERFOWL. 

Whither,  midst  falling  dew, 
While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day. 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 

Thy  solitary  way  .-' 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE  SEASONS.  49 

Vainly  the  fowler's  c}'e 
Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  seen  against  the  crimson  sky, 

Thy  figure  floats  along. 

Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide, 
Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed  ocean-side  ? 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast  — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air  — 

Lone-wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned. 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold  thin  atmosphere, 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end. 
Soon  shall  thou  flnd  a  summer  home,  and  rest 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows ;  reeds  shall  bend 

Soon  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

Thou  art  gone  —  the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form  ;  yet  on  my  heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

He  who,  from  zone  to  zone. 
Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone. 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 

—  William  Cm. lex  Bryant. 

D 


50  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

37- 

THE  CHOUGH  AND  CROW. 

The  chough  and  crow  to  roost  are  gone, 

The  owl  sits  on  the  tree, 
The  hush'd  wind  wails  with  feeble  moan, 

Like  infant  charity. 
The  wild  fire  dances  on  the  fen. 

The  red  star  sheds  its  ray ; 
Uprouse  ye,  then,  my  merry  men ! 

It  is  our  opening  day. 

Both  child  and  nurse  are  fast  asleep, 

And  closed  is  every  flower, 
The  winking  tapers  faintly  peep 

High  from  my  lady's  bower  ; 
Bewildered  hinds  with  shortened  ken 

Shrink  in  their  murky  way  ; 
Uprouse  ye,  then,  my  merry  men ! 

It  is  our  opening  day. 


Nor  board  nor  garner  own  we  now, 

Nor  roof  nor  latched  door, 
Nor  kind  mate  bound  by  holy  vow 

To  bless  a  good  man's  store  ; 
Noon  lulls  us  in  a  gloomy  den. 

And  night  is  grown  our  day  ; 
Uprouse  ye,  then,  my  merry  men ! 

It  is  our  opening  day. 

—  Joanna  Baillie. 


SONGS   OF  NATURE   AND    THE   SEASONS.  51 

38. 

AUTUMN. 

A    DIRGE. 

The  warm  sun  is  failing,  the  bleak  wind  is  wailing, 
The   bare   boughs    are  sighing,    the    pale    flowers   are 
dying, 

And  the  Year 
On  the  earth  her  death-bed,  in  a  shroud  of  leaves  dead, 
Is  lying. 
Come,  Months,  come  away, 
From  November  to  May, 
In  your  saddest  array  ; 
Follow  the  bier 
Of  the  dead  cold  Year, 
And  like  dim  shadows  watch  by  her  sepulchre. 

The  chill  rain  is  falling,  the  nipped  worm  is  crawling, 
The  rivers  are  swelling,  the  thunder  is  knelling 

For  the  Year ; 
The  blithe   swallows  are   flown,   and  the   lizards  each 
gone 

To  his  dwelling. 
Come,  Months,  come  away  ; 
Put  on  white,  black,  and  gray ; 
Let  your  light  sisters  play  — 
Ye,  follow  the  bier 
Of  the  dead  cold  Year, 
And  make  her  grave  green  with  tear  on  tear. 

—  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


52  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS.    ' 

39- 
ODE   TO   AUTUMN. 

I  SAW  old  Autumn  in  the  misty  morn 
Stand  shadowless  like  Silence  listening 
To  silence,  for  no  lonely  bird  would  sing 
Into  his  hollow  ear  from  woods  forlorn, 
Nor  lowly  hedge,  nor  solitary  thorn ; 
Shaking  his  languid  locks  all  dewy  bright 
With  tangled  gossamer  that  fell  by  night, 
Pearling  his  coronet  of  golden  corn. 

Where  are  the  songs  of  Summer }  —  With  the  sun, 

Oping  the  dusky  eyelids  of  the  south, 

Till  shade  and  silence  waken  up  as  one. 

And  Morning  sings  with  a  warm  odorous  mouth. 

Where  are  the  merry  birds  .•'  —  Away,  away, 

On  panting  wings  through  the  inclement  skies, 

Lest  owls  should  prey 

Undazzlcd  at  noon-day. 
And  tear  with  horny  beak  their  lustrous  eyes. 

Where  are  the  blooms  of  Summer  }  —  In  the  west, 
Blushing  their  last  to  the  last  sunny  hours. 
When  the  mild  Eve  by  sudden  Night  is  prest 
Like  tearful  Proserpine,  snatch'd  from  her  fiow'rs 

To  a  most  gloomy  breast. 
Where  is  the  pride  of  Summer,  —  the  green  prime, - 
The  many,  many  leaves  all  twinkling  ? —  Three 
On  the  moss'd  elm  ;  three  on  the  naked  lime 
Trembling,  —  and  one  upon  the  old  oak  tree! 
Where  is  the  Dryad's  inmiortality  }  — 


SO.VGS    OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  53 

Gone  into  mournful  cypress  and  dark  yew, 
Or  wearing  the  long  gloomy  Winter  through 
In  the  smooth  holly's  green  eternity. 

The  squirrel  gloats  o'er  his  accomplish'd  hoard, 
The  ants  have  brimm'd  their  garners  with  ripe  grain, 

And  honey  bees  have  stored 
The  sweets  of  Summer  in  their  luscious  cells ; 
And  swallows  all  have  wing'd  across  the  main  ; 
But  here  the  Autumn  melancholy  dwells. 

And  sighs  her  tearful  spells 
Amongst  the  sunless  shadows  of  the  plain. 

Alone,  alone. 

Upon  a  mossy  stone, 
She  sits  and  reckons  up  the  dead  and  gone. 
With  the  last  leaves  for  a  love-rosary ; 
Whilst  all  the  wither'd  world  looks  drearily, 
Like  a  dim  picture  of  the  drowned  past 
In  the  hush'd  mind's  mysterious  far-away, 
Doubtful  what  ghostly  thing  would  steal  the  last 
Into  that  distance,  gray  upon  the  gray. 

O  go  and  sit  with  her,  and  be  o'ershaded 
Under  the  languid  downfall  of  her  hair; 
She  wears  a  coronal  of  flowers  faded 
Upon  her  forehead,  and  a  face  of  care  ;  — 
There  is  enough  of  wither'd  everywhere 
To  make  her  bower,  —  and  enough  of  gloom ; 
There  is  enough  of  sadness  to  invite. 
If  only  for  the  rose  that  died,  whose  doom 
Is  Beauty's,  —  she  that  with  the  living  bloom 
Of  conscious  cheeks  most  beautifies  the  light ; 
There  is  enough  of  sorrowing,  and  quite 


54  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Enough  of  bitter  fruits  the  earth  doth  bear,  — 
Enough  of  chilly  droppings  from  her  bowl; 
Enough  of  fear  and  shadowy  despair, 
To  frame  her  cloudy  prison  for  the  soul ! 

—  Thomas  Hood. 


40. 
TO    AUTUMN. 

Season  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitfulness  ! 

Close  bosom-friend  of  the  maturing  sun  ; 
Conspiring  with  him  how  to  load  and  bless 

With  fruit  the  vines  that  round  the  thatch-eaves  run ; 
To  bend  with  apples  the  mossed  cottage-trees. 

And  fill  all  fruit  with  ripeness  to  the  core  ; 

To  swell  the  gourd,  and  plump  the  hazel  shells 

With  a  sweet  kernel ;  to  set  budding  more. 
And  still  more,  later  flowers  for  the  bees, 
Until  they  think  warm  days  will  never  cease, 

For  Summer  has  o'erbrimmed  their  clammy  cells. 

Who  hath  not  seen  thee  oft  amid  thy  store  } 

Sometimes  whoever  seeks  abroad  may  find 
Thee  sitting  careless  on  a  granary  floor. 

Thy  hair  soft-lifted  by  the  winnowing  wind ; 
Or  on  a  half-reaped  furrow  sound  asleep, 

Drowsed  with  the  fume  of  poppies,  while  thy  hook 
Spares  the  next  swath  and  all  its  twined  fiowers  ; 
And  sometimes  like  a  gleaner  thou  dost  keep 

Steady  thy  laden  head  across  a  brook ; 

Or  by  a  cider-press,  with  patient  look. 

Thou  watchcst  the  last  oozings,  hours  by  hours. 


SONGS    OF  NA  TURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  55 

Where  are  the  songs  of  Spring  ?     Ay,  where  are  they  ? 

Think  not  of  them,  thou  hast  thy  music  too, 

While  barred  clouds  bloom  the  soft-dying  day, 

And  touch  the  stubble-plains  with  rosy  hue; 

Then  in  a  wailful  choir  the  small  gnats  mourn 

Among  the  river  sallows,  borne  aloft 

Or  sinking  as  the  light  wind  lives  or  dies ; 
And  full-grown  lambs  loud  bleat  from  hilly  bourn  ; 
Hedge-crickets  sing ;   and  now  with  treble  soft 
The  redbreast  whistles  from  the  garden-croft. 
And  gathering  swallows  twitter  in  the  skies. 

—  John  Keats. 


41. 
ODE   TO   THE   WEST   WIND. 


O  WILD  West  Wind,  thou  breath  of  Autumn's  being, 
Thou,  from  whose  unseen  presence  the  leaves  dead 
Are  driven,  like  ghosts  from  an  enchanter  fleeing, 

Yellow,  and  black,  and  pale,  and  hectic  red. 
Pestilence-stricken  multitudes  :  O  thou, 
Who  chariotest  to  their  dark  wintry  bed 

The  winged  seeds,  where  they  lie  cold  and  low, 
Each  like  a  corpse  within  its  grave,  until 
Thine  azure  sister  of  the  spring  shall  blow 

Her  clarion  o'er  the  dreaming  earth,  and  fill 
(Driving  sweet  buds  like  flocks  to  feed  in  air), 
With  living  hues  and  odors,  plain  and  hill : 


56  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Wild  Spirit,  which  art  moving  everywhere ; 
Destroyer  and  Preserver  :  hear,  O  hear  ! 

II. 

Thou  on  whose  stream,  'mid  the  steep  sky's  commotion, 
Loose  clouds  like  earth's  decaying  leaves  are  shed, 
Shook  from  the  tangled  boughs  of  heaven  and  ocean, 

Angels  of  rain  and  lightning ;  there  arc  spread 
On  the  blue  surface  of  thine  airy  surge, 
Like  the  bright  hair  uplifted  from  the  head 

Of  some  fierce  Maenad,  ev'n  from  the  dim  verge 

Of  the  horizon  to  the  zenith's  height  — 

The  locks  of  the  approaching  storm.     Thou  dirge 

Of  the  dying  year,  to  which  this  closing  night 
Will  be  the  dome  of  a  vast  sepulchre. 
Vaulted  with  all  thy  congregated  might 

Of  vapours,  from  whose  solid  atmosphere 

Black  rain,  and  fire,  and  hail,  will  burst  :  O  hear ! 

III. 

Thou  who  didst  waken  from  his  summer-dreams 
The  blue  Mediterranean,  where  he  lay. 
Lulled  by  the  coil  of  his  crystalline  streams, 

Beside  a  pumice  isle  in  Baias's  bay. 
And  saw  in  sleep  old  palaces  and  towers 
Quivering  within  the  wave's  intenser  day. 

All  overgrown  with  azure  moss  and  flowers 

So  sweet,  the  sense  faints  picturing  them  !     Thou 

For  whose  path  the  Atlantic's  level  powers 


SONGS  OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  57 

Cleave  themselves  into  chasms,  while  far  below 
The  sea-blooms  and  the  oozy  woods  which  wear 
The  sapless  foliage  of  the  ocean,  know 

Thy  voice,  and  suddenly  grow  gray  with  fear, 
And  tremble  and  despoil  themselves :  O  hear ! 

IV. 

If  I  were  a  dead  leaf  thou  mightest  bear ; 

If  I  were  a  swift  cloud  to  fly  with  thee ; 

A  wave  to  pant  beneath  thy  power,  and  share 

The  impulse  of  thy  strength,  only  less  free 
Than  thou,  O  uncontrollable  !     If  even 
I  were  as  in  my  boyhood,  and  could  be 

The  comrade  of  thy  wanderings  over  heaven, 
As  then,  when  to  outstrip  thy  skyey  speed 
Scarce  seemed  a  vision,  I  would  ne'er  have  striven 

As  thus  with  thee  in  prayer  in  my  sore  need. 

0  lift  me  as  a  wave,  a  leaf,  a  cloud ! 

1  fall  upon  the  thorns  of  life  !  I  bleed  ! 

A  heavy  weight  of  hours  has  chained  and  bowed 
One  too  like  thee,  tameless,  and  swift,  and  proud. 


Make  me  thy  lyre,  ev'n  as  the  forest  is : 
What  if  my  leaves  are  falling  like  its  own  ! 
The  tumult  of  thy  mighty  harmonies 

Will  take  from  both  a  deep  autumnal  tone, 
Sweet  though  in  sadness.     Be  thou.  Spirit  fierce, 
My  spirit !  be  thou  me,  impetuous  One  ! 


58  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Drive  my  dead  thoughts  over  the  universe 
Like  withered  leaves  to  quicken  a  new  birth ; 
And,  by  the  incantation  of  this  verse, 

Scatter,  as  from  an  unextinguished  hearth, 
Ashes  and  sparks,  my  words  among  mankind  ! 
Be  through  my  lips  to  unawakencd  earth 

The  trumpet  of  a  prophecy  !     O  Wind, 
If  winter  comes,  can  spring  be  far  behind  ? 

—  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


42. 

THE    SEA. 

The  Sea  !  the  Sea  !  the  open  Sea  ! 

The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free ! 

Without  a  mark,  without  a  bound. 

It  runneth  the  earth's  wide  regions  'round ; 

It  plays  with  the  clouds  ;  it  mocks  the  skies ; 

Or  like  a  cradled  creature  lies. 

I'm  on  the  Sea  !     I'm  on  the  Sea  ! 

I  am  where  I  would  ever  be  ; 

With  the  blue  above,  and  the  blue  below, 

And  silence  wheresoe'er  I  go ; 

If  a  storm  should  come  and  awake  the  deep, 

What  matter  ?     /  shall  ride  and  sleep. 

I  love  (oh  !  hozv  I  love)  to  ride 
On  the  fierce  foaming  bursting  tide, 
When  every  mad  wave  drowns  the  moon, 
Or  whistles  aloft  his  tempest  tunc, 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  59 

And  tells  how  goeth  the  world  below, 
And  why  the  south-west  blasts  do  blow. 

I  never  was  on  the  dull  tame  shore, 
But  I  lov'd  the  great  Sea  more  and  more, 
And  backwards  flew  to  her  billowy  breast, 
Like  a  bird  that  seeketh  its  mother's  nest; 
And  a  mother  she  luas,  and  is  to  me ; 
For  I  was  born  on  the  open  Sea ! 

The  waves  were  white,  and  red  the  moon. 
In  the  noisy  hour  when  I  was  born  ; 
And  the  whale  it  whistled,  the  porpoise  rolled, 
And  the  dolphins  bared  their  backs  of  gold ; 
And  never  was  heard  such  an  outcry  wild 
As  welcomed  to  life  the  Ocean-child! 

I've  lived  since  then,  in  calm  and  strife. 
Full  fifty  summers  a  sailor's  life, 
With  wealth  to  spend  and  a  power  to  range. 
But  never  have  sought,  nor  sighed  for  change  ; 
And  Death,  whenever  he  come  to  me, 
Shall  come  on  the  wide  unbounded  Sea ! 

—  Bryan  Waller  Procter. 


43- 
WINTER. 


When  icicles  hang  by  the  wall 

And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail, 
And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall, 

And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail ; 


60  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

When  blood  is  nipt,  and  ways  be  foul, 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

Tiiwhoo ! 
Tuwhit !  tuwhoo  !     A  merry  note  ! 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

When  all  around  the  wind  doth  blow, 
And  coughing  drowns  the  parson's  saw, 

And  birds  sit  brooding  in  the  snow, 
And  Marian's  nose  looks  red  and  raw; 

When  roasted  crabs  hiss  in  the  bowl  — 

Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 
Tuwhoo ! 

Tuwhit !  tuwhoo  !     A  merry  note  ! 

While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

—  William  Shakespeare. 


44- 
CHRISTMAS    CAROL. 

OuTLANDERS,  whcncc  comc  ye  last } 

The  snow  hi  the  street  a?i(i  the  iviiid  on  the  door. 
Through  what  green  seas  and  great  have  ye  past .'' 

Mifistrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

From  far  away,  O  masters  mine, 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  zuind  on  the  door. 
We  come  to  bear  you  goodly  wine, 

Minstrels  and  >naii/s,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 


SONGS   OF  NATURE  AND    THE   SEASONS.  61 

From  far  away  we  come  to  you, 

The  sncnu  in  the  street  and  the  %vind  on  the  door. 
To  tell  of  great  tidings  strange  and  true, 

Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  fortJi  on  tJie  floor. 

News,  news  of  the  Trinity, 

TJie  sno7ii  in  the  street  and  the  zvind  on  the  door. 
And  Mary  and  Joseph  from  over  the  sea ! 

Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  t  lie  floor. 

For  as  we  wandered  far  and  wide. 

The  sjiotv  in  the  street  and  the  wind  on  the  door. 
What  hap  do  ye  deem  there  should  us  betide ! 

Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

Under  a  bent  when  the  night  was  deep, 

The  snozv  in  the  street  and  the  ivind  on  the  door. 

There  lay  three  shepherds  tending  their  sheep. 
Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

"O  ye  shepherds,  what  have  ye  seen. 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  wind  on  the  door. 
To  slay  your  sorrow,  and  heal  your  teen  ? " 
Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

"  In  an  ox-stall  this  night  we  saw. 

The  s/unu  in  the  street  and  the  ivind  on  the  door. 
A  babe  and  a  maid  without  a  flaw. 

Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

"  There  was  an  old  man  there  beside, 

The  snow  in  the  street  and  the  zvind  on  the  door. 
His  hair  was  white  and  his  hood  was  wide. 
Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 


62  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

"  And  as  we  gazed  this  thing  upon, 

The  sftozv  in  the  street  and  the  wifid  on  the  door. 
Those  twain  knelt  down  to  the  Little  One. 
Minstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  tJic  floor. 

"  And  a  marvellous  song  we  straight  did  hear, 

The  snozv  in  the  street  and  the  zvind  ofi  the  door. 
That  slew  our  sorrow  and  healed  our  care." 
Minstrels  and  maids,  sta7id  forth  on  the  floor. 

News  of  a  fair  and  marvellous  thing. 

The  snozv  in  the  street  and  the  zvind  on  the  door. 

Nowell,  nowell,  nowell,  we  sing ! 

Miitstrels  and  maids,  stand  forth  on  the  floor. 

—  William  Morris. 


45- 
DIRGE   FOR   THE   YEAR. 

"  Orphan  Hours,  the  Year  is  dead  ! 

Come  and  sigh,  come  and  weep  !  "  - 
"  Merry  Hours,  smile  instead. 
For  the  Year  is  but  asleep  ; 
See,  it  smiles  as  it  is  sleeping. 
Mocking  your  untimely  weeping."  — 

"  As  an  earthquake  rocks  a  corse 

In  its  coffin  in  the  clay, 
So  white  Winter,  that  rough  nurse, 

Rocks  the  dead-cold  Year  to-day ; 
Solemn  Hours  !  wail  aloud 
For  your  Mother  in  her  shroud."  — 


SONGS    OF  NATURE   AND    THE   SEASONS.  63 

"  As  the  wild  air  stirs  and  sways 

The  tree-swung  cradle  of  a  child, 
So  the  breath  of  these  rude  Days 

Rocks  the  Year.     Be  calm  and  mild, 
Trembling  Hours  ;  she  will  arise 
With  new  love  within  her  eyes. 

"January  grey  is  here, 

Like  a  sexton  by  her  grave  ; 
February  bears  the  bier ; 

March  with  grief  doth  howl  and  rave  ; 
And  April  weeps  :  — but  O  ye  Hours  ! 
Follow  with  May's  fairest  flowers." 

—  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


NOTES. 


No.  I.  Morning  Song.  This  is  from  Cymbeline,  act  ii.,  scene  2. 
Cloten,  in  whose  mouth  it  is  put,  describes  it  as  "  a  very  excellent  good 
conceited  thing,  after  a  wonderful  sweet  air,  with  admirable  rich  words 
to  it." 

1.  2.    Phoebus.     The  sun-god.     See  Classical  Dictionary. 

1.  4.  lies.  "  The  disagreement  in  number  between  '  lies '  and  its 
nominative  is  not'  worth  all  that  has  been  written  about  it,"  says  Richard 
Grant  White.  "A  relic  of  an  old  usage,  it  was  common  enough  in 
Shakespeare's  day."     See  Romeo  and  Juliet,  ii.,  4 :  — 

"  Both  our  remedies 
Within  thy  help  and  holy  physic  lies." 

No.  6.  Hunting  Song.  This  song  is  included  in  the  continuation  of 
Queenhoo  Hall,  an  unfinished  romance  by  Joseph  Strutt,  published  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott  in  1808.  It  was  this  novel  that  first  inspired  Scott  with 
the  idea  of  writing  a  historical  romance  like  his  Waverley,  which,  however, 
was  not  completed  until  six  years  later. 

No.  7.  May-Day.  From  Hesperides :  or,  the  IVorks  both  Humane 
and  Divine   of  Robert  Herrick,    1648.     This   poem    possesses    a   double 


64  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

interest  on  account  of  its  allusions  to  ancient  May-day  customs  in  Eng- 
land. "  Bourne  tells  us  that  in  his  time,  in  the  villajjes  in  the  north  of 
England,  the  juvenile  part  of  both  sexes  were  wont  to  rise  a  little  after 
midnight  on  the  morning  of  that  day,  and  walk  to  some  neighboring 
wood,  accompanied  with  music  and  the  blowing  of  horns,  where  they 
broke  down  branches  from  the  trees  and  adorned  them  with  nosegays  and 
crowns  of  flowers.  This  done  they  returned  homewards  with  their  booty 
about  the  time  of  sunrise,  and  made  their  doors  and  windows  triumph  in 
the  flowery  spoil." — Brande's  Popular  Atitiquitics. 

An  old  ballad,  called    The   Milkmaid's   Life,   publislied  about   1630, 

says : — 

"  Upon  the  first  of  May, 
With  garlands  fresh  and  gay, 
With  mirth  and  musick  sweet. 
For  such  a  season  meet, 
They  passe  their  time  away. 
They  dance  away  sorrow, 
And  all  the  day  thorow 
Their  legs  doe  never  fayle. 
They  nimbly  their  feet  doe  ply, 
And  bravely  try  the  victory 
In  honour  o'  th"  milking  paile." 

1.  28.  beads.  From  Old  English  bede,  or  Anglo-Saxon  bed,  prayer. 
When  round  balls  with  holes  through  them  came  to  be  used  fur  counting 
prayers,  the  name  was  transferred  to  them. 

No.  8.  TiiK  Story  ok  a  Summer  Day.  Alexander  Hume  was  a 
minister  of  the  Scotch  Kirk  and  a  contemporary  of  Shakesi)eare's.  His 
poems  were  first  published  in  1599  in  a  black-letter  volume  entitled 
Hymnes,  or  Sacred  Songs.  Thomas  Campbell,  who  includes  a  portion 
of  this  poem  in  his  Specimetts  of  the  British  Poets,  describes  it  as  contain- 
ing "  a  train  of  images  that  seem  peculiarly  pleasing  and  unborrowed,  — 
the  pictures  of  a  poetical  mind,  humble  but  genuine  in  its  cast." 

1.  I.  shaid.  Perfect  tense  of  the  verb  shed  in  its  now  obsolete 
meaning  of  to  separate  —  from  A.-S.  sceadan,  to  divide,  to  part.  See 
Genesis,  i.,  4. 

1.    6.    vively.     In  a  lively  manner. 

1.  16.    muir  and  stripe.     Moor  and  rill. 

1.  21.    glistering  astres.     (flittering  stars. 

1.  23.   offusked.     (Jbfuscated,  eclipsed. 

1.  29.    boulden.     Inflated. 

1.  38.    skails.     Disperses. 

1. 52.    steir.     Stir. 


SONGS   OF  NA  TURK  AND    THE   SEASONS.  65 

1.57.  cessile.  "This  must,  I  think,  be  intended  the  yielding,  or 
buxom  air."  —  Trench. 

1.  60.    repeats.     See  note  on  "  lies,"  No.  i,  above. 
1.  74.   trained  in  a  chair.     Drawn  in  a  chariot. 
1.  93.   is  went.     Is  wended,     slake.     Abate. 

No.  9.  Holiday  in  Arcadia.  Arcadia  is  the  typical  home  of  wood- 
men, shepherds,  and  country  pleasures.  Pan  was  the  god  of  flocks,  herds, 
the  woods  and  the  fields. 

1.  13.  Philomel.  See  The  Nightingale  by  Richard  Barnfield,  page 
47;  also  Itylus,  by  Swinburne,  page  354.  Tereus  was  king  of  Daulis. 
His  wife  was  Procne,  the  sister  of  Philomela.  Wishing  to  marry  Philo- 
mela, he  had  Procne  removed  to  a  secret  place,  and  gave  out  that  she 
was  dead.  Philomela  became  his  wife,  and  afterwards,  fearing  that  she 
had  discovered  and  would  publish  his  falsehood,  he  cut  out  her  tongue. 
But  she  contrived  to  weave  the  story  into  the  pattern  of  a  peplum,  which 
she  sent  to  Procne.  Tereus  thereupon  attempted  to  slay  both  the  sisters 
with  an  axe.  They,  however,  prayed  the  gods  to  change  them  into  birds, 
and  Procne  thereupon  was  transformed  into  a  swallow  and  Philomela  into 
a  nightingale.  Tereus  himself  became  a  hoopoe.  The  story  is  told  some- 
what differently  by  dift'erent  writers,  but  the  main  facts  remain  the  same. 
The  cry  "  Tereu.,  tereu  !  "  of  the  nightingale  seems  to  have  suggested  the 
name  Tereus. 

1.  16.  Thracian  lyre.  The  reference  is  to  the  music  of  Orpneus,  a 
Thracian  poet,  who  is  said  to  have  played  so  sweetly  on  his  lyre  that  even 
inanimate  things  were  charmed  by  it.  See  Pope's  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's 
Day. 

No.  II.  Under  the  Greenwood  Tree.  A  song  from  As  You  Like 
It,  ii.,  5. 

No.  12.  Evening.  7.  brede  ethereal.  Heavenly  braid.  Keats  uses 
the  word  brede  in  quite  a  different  sense.  See  Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn., 
page  343 :  — 

"  With  brede  of  marble  men  and  maidens  overwrought." 

1.  II.   beetle,  etc.     Compare  with  — 

"  Where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight."  —  Gray's  Elegy,  7. 

1.  21.    folding-star.     The  evening  star.     See  Milton's  Coinus,  93:  — 

"  The  star  that  bids  the  shepherd  fold, 
Now  the  top  of  heaven  doth  hold." 
£ 


66  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Also  Shakespeare,  Measure  for  Measure,  iv.,  2:  — 

"  Look,  th'  unfolding  star  calls  up  the  shepherd." 

No.  14.  To  Diana.  Compare  this  poem  w  ith  Ben  Jonson's  To  Cynthia 
(See  Six   Centuries  of  English  Poetry,  p.  209).     Diana  is  the  moon. 

No.  17.  Slumber-Song.  This  song  occurs  in  I'a/entinian,  a  drama 
by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  Leigh  Hunt  shows  that  a  portion  of  it  is 
repeated  in  the  play  An  Honest  Man's  Fortune,  by  Fletcher,  and  gives 
other  evidence  that  the  lines  are  Fletcher's  own. 

1.  2.   brother  to  death.     So  Shelley,  in  Queen  Mab  :  — 

"  Death  and  his  brother  Sleep." 

No.  19.   The  Young  May  Moon.     From  Irish  Melodies. 

1.  4.  Morna.  Moma  is  the  name  of  a  heroine  in  Ossian's  Fingal. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  Cormac,  an  Irish  king. 

1.  12.  Sage.  Astrologer.  Compare  the  second  stanza  with  the  Da~u<n- 
Song,  by  Davenant,  No.  2,  page  i. 

No.  22.  To  THE  Moon.  This  fragment  was  never  completed  liy  the 
poet.  The  last  two  lines  were  first  printed  by  Rossetti  (iJiyo),  from  Shel- 
ley's own  manuscript. 

No.  23.  The  Coming  of  Spring.  This  is  the  oldest  English  song 
in  existence  that  has  come  down  to  us  with  its  musical  setting.  It  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  written  about  the  year  1226,  Ijy  John  of  Fonsete,  a 
monk  of  Reading  Abbey.  The  MS.  is  now  in  the  Harleian  Library,  with 
its  accompanying  music,  which  is  arranged  for  six  voices. 

Lhude,  loudly.  awe,  ewe.  murie,  merrily, 

sed,  seed.  louth,  cow.  swik,  such. 

med,  meadow.  sterteth,  leaps.  ne,  not. 

wde,  wood.  verteth,  skips.  nu,  new. 

No.  26.  A  Spring  Idyll.  Written  in  163S.  "  I  do  easily  believe 
that  peace  and  patience,  and  a  calm  content,  did  cohabit  in  the  cheerful 
heart  of  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  because  I  know  that  when  he  was  beyond 
seventy  years  of  age  he  made  this  description  of  a  part  of  the  present 
pleasure  that  possessed  him  as  he  sat  iiuietly,  in  a  summer's  evening,  on 
a  bank  a-fishing."  —  Izaak  IValton. 

No.  30.  The  Cuckoo.  "This  poem  has  an  exaltation  and  a  glory, 
joined  with  an  exciuisiteness  of  expression,  which  place  it  in  the  highest 
rank  among  the  many  masterpieces  of  its  illustrious  author."  —  Palgrave. 
It  was  written  in  1S04,  and  jjuiilislicd  in  1S07, 


SONGS   OF  NATURE   AND    THE   SEASONS.  67 

No.    31.   To  THE  Daisy.     Written  in  1S02;   published  in  1807. 

1.  3.    Sweet  Daisy  !  oft  I  talk  to  thee.     This  is  the  original  reading 

in  the  first  edition.      Later  editions  have  it:  — 

"  Daisy,  again  I  talk  to  thee." 

Wordsworth  had  written  two  other  poems  addressed  to  the  same  flower. 

No.  35.  The  Nightingale.  See  note  on  Philomel.,  page  65.  King 
Pandion,  according  to  the  old  Greek  legend,  related  in  Ovid's  Metamor- 
phoses., was  the  father  of  Philomel  and  .Procne.  He  gave  the  latter  in 
marriage  to  Tereus,  king  of  Daulis,  in  return  for  military  aid  rendered  him 
in  time  of  need. 

No.  39.     Ode  to  Autumn. 

1.  21.  Proserpine.  Persephone.  See  Classical  Dictionary;  also  the 
poem  The  Garden  of  Proserpine,  page  351. 

1.  27.  Dryad.  A  wood-nymph.  Her  life  was  believed  to  be  coexist- 
ent with  that  of  the  tree  in  which  she  dwelt. 

No.  41.   Ode  to  the  West  Wind.     Written  in  1819. 

"  This  poem  was  conceived  and  chiefly  written  in  a  wood  that  skirts  the 
Arno,  near  Florence,  and  on  a  day  when  that  tempestuous  wind,  whose 
temperature  is  at  once  mild  and  animating,  was  collecting  the  vapors 
which  pour  down  the  autumnal  rains.  They  began,  as  I  foresaw,  at  sun- 
set, with  a  violent  tempest  of  hail  and  rain,  attended  by  that  magnificent 
thunder  and  lightning  peculiar  to  the  Cisalpine  regions.  The  phenomenon 
alluded  to  at  the  conclusion  of  the  third  stanza  is  well  known  to  naturalists. 
The  vegetation  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  of  rivers,  and  of  lakes,  sympa- 
thizes with  that  of  the  land  in  the  change  of  seasons,  and  is  consequently 
influenced  by  the  winds  which  announce  it."  —  Shelley. 

"  Had  Shelley  left  nothing  but  this  magnificent  Ode,  it  would  have 
been  enough  to  vindicate  his  claim  to  the  rank  of  a  great  poet." — Amelia 
B.  Edwards. 

No.  42.  The  Sea.  It  is  curious  to  note  that  the  writer  of  this  rapt- 
urous eulogy  of  the  sea  was  never  able,  during  the  course  of  a  long  life, 
to  cross  even  the  English  Channel.  The  shortest  voyages  in  the  most 
favorable  weather  were  undertaken  only  with  the  certainty  of  fhe  severest 
attacks  of  sea-sickness. 

No.  43.    Winter.     From  I.ove^s  Labour's  Lost,  v.,  2. 
1.  2.   nail.     A  cow-horn. 

1.  9.  keel.  To  keel  the  pot  is  to  cool  its  contents  by  stirring  with  a 
ladle. 


68  CHOICE  EXGLISII  LYRICS. 

• 

No.  44.   Christmas  Carol. 

1.  21.    bent.     Shed,  rude  shelter. 

1.  27.    teen.     Trouble,  pain. 

1.  47.  Nowell.  A  cry  of  joy — joy  for  the  birth  of  the  Saviour  — 
uttered  at  Christmas-time. 

No.  45.  Dirge  for  thp:  Year.  Written  January  i,  1821.  "This 
lyric  must  be  conceived  as  spoken  by  '  Two  Voices,'  one  of  them  con- 
doling the  death  of  the  year,  and  the  other  predicting  her  return  to  life." 
—  W.  M.  Rossetii. 


Songe  of  1S>attk,  Bravery,  anb  patriotiem. 


o>»<c 


Patriots  have  toiled,  and  in  their  country^ s  cause 
Bled  nobly ;  and  their  deeds,  as  they  deserve. 
Receive  proud  recotnpense.     We  give  in  charge 
Their  names  to  the  sweet  lyre.     The  historic  Mus 
Protui  of  the  treasure,  marches  with  it  down 
To  latest  times  ;  and  Sculpture,  in  her  turn. 
Gives  bond  in  stone  and  ever-duritig  brass 
To  guard  them,  and  to  immortalize  her  trust. 

—  William  Cowper. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   AGINCOURT. 

Fair  stood  the  wind  for  France, 
When  we  our  sails  advance, 
Nor  now  to  prove  our  chance 

Longer  will  tarry ; 
But  putting  to  the  main, 
At  Caux,  the  mouth  of  Seine, 
With  all  his  martial  train, 

Landed  King  Harry. 

And  taking  many  a  fort, 
Furnished  in  warlike  sort, 
69 


70  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Marcheth  towards  Agincourt, 

In  happy  hour; 
Skirmishing  day  by  day 
With  those  that  stopped  his  way, 
Where  the  French  general  lay 

With  all  his  power. 

Which  in  his  height  of  pride, 
King  Henry  to  deride. 
His  ransom  to  provide 

To  the  king  sending. 
Which  he  neglects  the  while, 
As  from  a  nation  vile, 
Yet  with  an  angry  smile 

Their  fall  portending. 

And  turning  to  his  men, 
Quoth  our  brave  Henry  then, 
"  Though  they  be  one  to  ten. 

Be  not  amazed ; 
Yet  have  we  well  begun. 
Battles  so  bravely  won 
Have  ever  to  the  sun 

By  fame  been  raised. 

"And  for  myself,"  quoth  he, 
"This  my  full  rest  shall  be, 
England  ne'er  mourn  for  me, 

Nor  more  esteem  me. 
Victor  I  will  remain, 
Or  on  this  earth  lie  slain. 
Never  shall  she  sustain 

Loss  to  redeem  me. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,   BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.      71 

"  Poitiers  and  Crcssy  tell, 
When  most  their  pride  did  swell, 
Under  our  swords  they  fell. 

No  less  our  skill  is, 
That  when  our  grandsirc  great, 
Claiming  the  regal  seat, 
By  many  a  warlike  feat 

Lopped  the  French  lilies." 

The  Duke  of  York  so  dread 
The  eager  va'ward  led  ; 
With  the  main  Henry  sped, 

Amongst  his  henchmen. 
Exeter  had  the  rear, 
A  braver  man  not  there : 
Heavens  !  how  hot  they  were 

On  the  false  Frenchmen  ! 

They  now  to  fight  are  gone. 
Armor  on  armor  shone. 
Drum  now  to  drum  did  groan. 

To  hear  was  wonder  : 
That  with  the  cries  they  make. 
The  very  earth  did  shake ; 
Trumpet  to  trumpet  spake, 

Thunder  to  thunder. 

Well  it  thine  age  became, 
O  noble  Erpingham, 
Which  didst  the  signal  aim 

To  our  hid  forces ; 
When  from  a  meadow  by, 
Like  a  storm  suddenly, 
The  English  archery 

Struck  the  French  horses. 


72  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

With  Spanish  yew  so  strong, 
Arrows  a  cloth-yard  long, 
That  like  to  serpents  stung, 

Piercing  the  weather ; 
None  from  his  fellow  starts, 
But  playing  manly  parts, 
And  like  true  English  hearts. 

Stuck  close  together. 

When  down  their  bows  they  threw, 
And  forth  their  bilbos  drew, 
And  on  the  French  they  flew, 

Not  one  was  tardy  ; 
Arms  were  from  shoulders  sent. 
Scalps  to  the  teeth  were  rent, 
Down  the  French  peasants  went, 

Our  men  were  hardy. 

This  while  our  noble  King, 
His  broad  sword  brandishing, 
Down  the  French  host  did  ding, 

As  to  o'erwhelm  it ; 
And  many  a  deep  wound  lent. 
His  arms  with  blood  besprent, 
And  many  a  cruel  dent 

Bruised  his  helmet. 

Gloucester,  that  duke  so  good, 
Next  of  the  royal  blood, 
For  famous  I^igland  stood. 

With  his  brave  brother, 
Clarence,  in  steel  so  bright, 
Though  but  a  maiden  knight, 
Yet  in  that  furious  fight 

Scarce  such  another. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     73 

Warwick  in  blood  did  wade, 
Oxford  the  foe  invade, 
And  cruel  slaughter  made, 

Still  as  they  ran  up  ; 
Suffolk  his  axe  did  ply, 
Beaumont  and  Willoughby 
Bare  them  right  doughtily, 

Ferrers  and  Fanhope. 

Upon  Saint  Crispin's  day 
Fought  was  this  noble  fray. 
Which  fame  did  not  delay 

To  England  to  carry  ; 
Oh,  when  shall  English  men 
With  such  acts  fill  a  pen. 
Or  England  breed  again 

Such  a  King  Harry  ? 

—  Michael  Dravton. 


2. 


THE   CHARGE   OF   THE   LIGHT   BRIGADE. 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league. 
Half  a  league  onward. 
All  in  the  valley  of  Death, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade  ! 
Charge  for  the  guns  !  "  he  said  : 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 


74  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

"  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade  !  " 
Was  there  a  man  dismayed  ? 
Not  though  the  soldiers  knew 

Some  one  had  blundered  : 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die. 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them. 
Cannon  in  front  of  them 

Volleyed  and  thundered  ; 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell. 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well, 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  Hell, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Flashed  all  their  sabres  bare, 
Flashed  as  they  turned  in  air, 
Sab'ring  the  gunners  there. 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wondered  : 
Plunged  in  the  battery-smoke, 
Right  through  the  line  they  broke  ; 

Cossack  and  Russian 
Reeled  from  the  sabre-stroke, 

Shattered  and  sundered. 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not  — 

Not  the  six  hundred. 


SONGS  OJ''  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     75 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them 

Volleyed  and  thundered ; 
Stornred  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
While  horse  and  hero  fell, 
They  that  had  fought  so  well 
Came  through  the  jaws  of  Death 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  Hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 

Left  of  six  hundred. 

When  can  their  glory  fade  ? 
Oh  the  wild  charge  they  made  ! 

All  the  world  wondered. 
Honor  the  charge  they  made  ! 
Honor  the  Light  Brigade, 

Noble  six  hundred  ! 

—  Alfred  Tennyson. 


3- 
COMING   OF   CHARLEMAGNE. 

To  Oggier  spake  king  Didier  : 

"When  Cometh  Charlemagne  .-' 
We  looked  for  him  in  harvest, 

We  looked  for  him  in  rain. 
Crops  are  reaped,  and  floods  are  past. 

And  still  he  is  not  here. 
Some  token  show,  that  we  may  know 

That  Charlemagne  is  near." 


76  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Then  to  the  king  made  answer 

Oggicr,  the  christened  Dane  : 
"When  stands  the  iron  harvest 

Ripe  on  the  Lombard  plain, 
That  stiff  harvest  which  is  reaped 

With  sword  of  knight  and  peer, 
Then  by  that  sign  ye  may  divine 

That  Charlemagne  is  near. 

"  When  round  the  Lombard  cities 

The  iron  flood  shall  flow, 
A  swifter  flood  than  Ticin, 

A  broader  flood  than  Po, 
Frothing  white  with  many  a  plume, 

Dark  blue  with  many  a  spear, 
Then  by  that  sign  ye  may  divine 

That  Charlemagne  is  near." 

—  Lord  Macaulay, 


4. 
THE   BATTLE   OF    BANNOCKBURN. 

bruce's  address  to  his  men. 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led ; 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 
Or  to  glorious  liberty  ! 

Now's  the  day  and  now's  the  hour : 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lour : 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power  — 
Edward  !   chains  and  slavery  ! 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AXD  PATRIOT/SAL     77 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave  ? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 

Traitor  !  coward  !  turn,  and  flee ! 

Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Freemen  stand,  or  freemen  fa', 
Caledonian  !  on  wi'  me  ! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains ! 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains  ! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins. 

But  they  shall  be  —  shall  be  free ! 

Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low  ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe  ! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow  !  — 

Forward !  let  us  do  or  die  ! 

—  Robert  Burns. 


5- 
GATHERING    SONG    OF    DONUIL    DHU. 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Pibroch  of  Donuil, 
Wake  thy  wild  voice  anew, 

Summon  Clan  Conuil. 
Come  away,  come  away. 

Hark  to  the  summons  ! 
Come  in  your  war-array, 

Gentles  and  commons. 


78  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Come  from  deep  glen,  and 

From  mountain  so  rocky ; 
The  war-pipe  and  pennon 

Are  at  Inverlocky. 
Come  every  hill-plaid,  and 

True  heart  that  wears  one, 
Come  every  steel  blade,  and 

Strong  hand  that  bears  one. 

Leave  untended  the  herd, 

The  flock  without  shelter  ; 
Leave  the  corpse  uninterr'd, 

The  bride  at  the  altar  ; 
Leave  the  deer,  leave  the  steer. 

Leave  nets  and  barges : 
Come  with  your  fighting  gear, 

Broadswords  and  targes. 

Come  as  the  winds  come,  when 

Forests  are  rended, 
Come  as  the  waves  come,  when 

Navies  are  stranded  : 
Faster  come,  faster  come, 

Faster  and  faster. 
Chief,  vassal,  page  and  groom, 

Tenant  and  master. 

Fast  they  come,  fast  they  come  ; 

See  how  they  gather ! 
Wide  waves  the  eagle  plume 

Blended  with  heather. 
Cast  your  plaids,  draw  your  blades. 

Forward  each  man  set ! 
Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu 

Knell  for  the  onset ! 

—  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVER Y,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     79 

6. 

KILLIECRANKIE. 

(^The  Burial-March  of  Dundee.') 

On  the  heights  of  Killiecrankie 

Yester-morn  our  army  lay  : 
Slowly  rose  the  mist  in  columns 

From  the  river's  broken  way ; 
Hoarsely  roared  the  swollen  torrent, 

And  the  Pass  was  wrapt  in  gloom, 
When  the  clansmen  rose  together 

From  their  lair  amidst  the  broom. 
Then  we  belted  on  our  tartans, 

And  our  bonnets  down  we  drew, 
And  we  felt  our  broadsword's  edges, 

And  we  proved  them  to  be  true ; 
And  we  prayed  the  prayer  of  soldiers, 

And  we  cried  the  gathering-cry. 
And  we  clasped  the  hands  of  kinsmen, 

And  we  swore  to  do  or  die  ! 
Then  our  leader  rode  before  us 

On  his  war-horse  black  as  night  — 
Well  the  Cameronian  rebels 

Knew  that  charger  in  the  fight !  — 
And  a  cry  of  exultation 

From  the  bearded  warriors  rose ; 
For  we  loved  the  house  of  Claver'se, 

And  we  thought  of  good  Montrose, 
But  he  raised  his  hand  for  silence  — 

"  Soldiers  !  I  have  sworn  a  vow  : 
Ere  the  evening  star  shall  glisten 

On  Schehallion's  lofty  brow, 


CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Either  we  shall  rest  in  triumph, 

Or  another  of  the  Graemes 
Shall  have  died  in  battle-harness 

For  his  country  and  King  James ! 
Think  upon  the  Royal  Martyr  — 

Think  of  what  his  race  endure  — 
Think  of  him  whom  butchers  murdered 

On  the  field  of  Magus  Muir  :  — 
By  his  sacred  blood  I  charge  ye, 

By  the  ruined  hearth  and  shrine  — 
By  the  blighted  hopes  of  Scotland, 

By  your  injuries  and  mine  — 
Strike  this  day  as  if  the  anvil 

Lay  beneath  your  blows  the  while, 
Be  they  covenanting  traitors, 

Or  the  brood  of  false  Argyle ! 
Strike  !  and  drive  the  trembling  rebels 

Backwards  o'er  the  stormy  Forth  ; 
Let  them  tell  their  pale  Convention 

How  they  fared  within  the  North. 
Let  them  tell  that  Highland  honor 

Is  not  to  be  bought  or  sold, 
That  we  scorn  their  prince's  anger 

As  we  loathe  his  foreign  gold. 
Strike  !  and  when  the  fight  is  over, 

If  ye  look  in  vain  for  me. 
Where  the  dead  are  lying  thickest. 

Search  for  him  that  was  Dundee ! " 

Loudly  then  the  hills  re-echoed 
With  our  answer  to  his  call, 

But  a  deeper  echo  sounded 
In  the  bosoms  of  us  all. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     81 

For  the  lands  of  wide  Breadelbane 

Not  a  man  who  heard  him  speak 
Would  that  day  have  left  the  battle. 

Burning  eye  and  flushing  cheek 
Told  the  clansmen's  fierce  emotion, 

And  they  harder  drew  their  breath; 
For  their  souls  were  strong  within  them, 

Stronger  than  the  grasp  of  death. 
Soon  we  heard  a  challenge-trumpet 

Sounding  in  the  Pass  below, 
And  the  distant  tramp  of  horses, 

And  the  voices  of  the  foe  : 
Down  we  crouched  amid  the  brachen, 

Till  the  Lowland  ranks  drew  near. 
Panting  like  the  hounds  in  summer, 

When  they  scent  the  stately  deer. 
From  the  dark  defile  emerging. 

Next  we  saw  the  squadrons  come, 
Leslie's  foot  and  Leven's  troopers 

Marching  to  the  tuck  of  drum  ; 
Through  the  scattered  wood  of  birches, 

O'er  the  broken  ground  and  heath, 
Wound  the  long  battalion  slowly, 

Till  they  gained  the  plain  beneath  ; 
Then  we  bounded  from  our  covert.  — 

Judge  how  looked  the  Saxons  then, 
When  they  saw  the  rugged  mountain 

Start  to  life  with  armed  men  ! 
Like  a  tempest  down  the  ridges 

Swept  the  hurricane  of  steel, 
Rose  the  slogan  of  Macdonald,  — 

Flashed  the  broadsword  of  Lochiell ! 


82  CllOICi:   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Vainly  sped  the  withering  volley 

'Mongst  the  foremost  of  our  band  — 
On  we  poured  until  we  met  them, 

Foot  to  foot,  and  hand  to  hand. 
Horse  and  man  went  down  like  drift-wood 

When  the  floods  are  black  at  Yule, 
And  their  carcasses  are  whirling 

In  the  Garry's  deepest  pool. 
Horse  and  man  went  down  before  us  — 

Living  foe  there  tarried  none 
On  the  field  of  Killiccrankie, 

When  that  stubborn  fight  was  done ! 

And  the  evening  star  was  shining 

On  Schehallion's  distant  head, 
When  we  wiped  our  bloody  broadswords, 

And  returned  to  count  the  dead. 
There  we  found  him  gashed  and  gory. 

Stretched  upon  the  cumbered  plain, 
As  he  told  us  where  to  seek  him. 

In  the  thickest  of  the  slain. 
And  a  smile  was  on  his  visage. 

For  within  his  dying  ear 
Pealed  the  joyful  note  of  triumph. 

And  the  clansmen's  clamorous  cheer: 
So,  amidst  the  battle's  thunder, 

Shot,  and  steel,  and  scorching  flame, 
In  the  glory  of  his  manhood 

Passed  the  spirit  of  the  Graeme ! 

—  W.  E.  Aytoun. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     83 

7- 
LAMENT  FOR  FLODDEN. 

I've  heard  them  Hlting  at  our  ewe-milking, 

Lasses  a'  lilting  before  dawn  o'  day  ; 
But  now  they  are  moaning  on  ilka  green  loaning  — 

The  Flowers  of  the  Forest  are  a'  wedc  away. 

At  bughts,  in  the  morning,  nae  blythe  lads  arc  scorning. 

Lasses  are  lonely  and  dowie  and  wae  ; 
Nae  dafifin',  nae  gabbin',  but  sighing  and  sabbing, 

Ilk  ane  lifts  her  leglin,  and  hies  her  away. 

In  har'st,  at  the  shearing,  nae  youths  now  are  jeering, 
Bandsters  are  lyart,  and  runkled,  and  grey ; 

At  fair  or  at  preaching,  nae  wooing,  nae  fleeching  — 
The  Flowers  of  the  Forest  are  a'  wede  away. 

At  e'en,  in  the  gloaming,  naeyounkers  are  roaming 
'Bout  stacks  wi'  the  lasses  at  bogle  to  play; 

But  ilk  ane  sits  drearie,  lamenting  her  dearie  — 
The  Flowers  of  the  Forest  are  a'  wede  away. 

Dool  and  wae  for  the  order,  sent  our  lads  to  the  Border ! 

The  English,  for  ance,  by  guile  wan  the  day  ; 
The  Flowers  of  the  Forest,  that  fought  aye  the  foremost, 

The  prime  of  our  land,  are  cauld  in  the  clay. 

We'll  hear  nae  mair  lilting  at  the  ewe-milking ; 

Women  and  bairns  are  heartless  and  wae ; 
Sighing  and  moaning  on  ilka  green  loaning  — 

The  Flowers  of  the  Forest  are  a'  wede  away. 

—  Jane  Elliott. 


84  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

8. 
BONNIE  GEORGE  CAMPBELL. 

SCOTTISH    BALLAD. 

High  upon  Highlands, 

And  low  upon  Tay, 
Bonnie  George  Campbell 

Rode  out  on  a  day, 
Saddled  and  bridled. 

And  gallant  to  see  : 
Hame  cam'  his  gude  horse, 

But  hame  came  not  he. 

Out  ran  his  auld  mither, 

Greeting  full  sair ; 
Out  ran  his  bonnie  bride 

Reaving  her  hair. 
He  rode  saddled  and  bridled, 

Wi'  boots  to  the  knee : 
Hame  cam'  his  gude  horse, 

But  never  cam'  he. 

"  My  meadow  lies  green. 

And  my  corn  is  unshorn. 
My  barn  is  unbuilt, 

And  my  babe  is  unborn  !  " 
He  rode  saddled  and  bridled, 

Careless  and  free  : 
Hame  cam'  his  gude  horse, 

And  never  cam'  he. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     85 

9- 
THE  BATTLE  OF  IVRY. 

Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  hosts,  from  whom  all  glories 

are  ! 
And    glory   to  our  Sovereign  Liege,    King    Henry   of 

Navarre ! 
Now  let  there  be  the  merry  sound  of  music  and  of  dance, 
Through   thy   corn-fields  green,   and  sunny    vines,    oh 

pleasant  land  of  France  ! 
And  thou,  Rochelle,  our  own  Rochelle,  proud  city  of  the 

waters. 
Again    let  rapture  light  the  eyes  of  all  thy  mourning 

daughters. 
As  thou  wert  constant  in  our  ills,  be  joyous  in  our  joy, 
For  cold,  and  stiff,  and  still  are  they  who  wrought  thy 

walls  annoy. 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  a  single  field  hath  turned  the  chance  of 

war. 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  for  Ivry,  and  King  Henry  of  Navarre. 

Oh !  how  our  hearts  were  beating,  when  at  the  dawn  of 

day 
We  saw  the  army  of  the  League  drawn  out  in  long 

array ; 
With  all  its  priest-led  citizens,  and  all  its  rebel  peers. 
And  Appenzel's  stout  infantry,  and  Egmont's  Flemish 

spears. 
There  rode  the  brood  of  false  Lorraine,  the  curses  of  our 

land! 
And  dark  Mayenne  was  in  the  midst,  a  truncheon  in  his 

hand  ! 


86  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

And  as  wc  looked  on  them,  \vc  thou(j;ht  of  Seine's  em- 

jnnplcd  Hood, 
And  good    Coligni's    hoary   hair    all   dabbled   with    his 

blood  ; 
And  we  cried  unto  the  living  God,  who  rules  the  fate  of 

war, 
To  fight  for  his  own  holy  name,  and  Henry  of  Navarre. 

The   King  is  come  to    marshal    us,    in    all    his    armor 

drest, 
And  he  has  bound  a  snow-white  plume  upon  his  gallant 

crest. 
He  looked  upon  his  people,  and  a  tear  was  in  his  eye  ; 
He  looked  w\)o\\  the  traitors,  and  his  glance  was  stern  and 

high. 
Right  graciously  he  smiled  on  us,  as  rolled  from  wing  to 

wing, 
Down  all   our  line,  a  deafening  shout,  "  God  save  our 

Lord  the  King  !  " 
"  And  if  my  standard-bearer  fall,   as  fall  full  well    he 

may, 
For  never  saw  I  jiromisc  yet  of  such  a  bloody  fray, 
Press  where  ye  see  my   white  plume  shine,  amidst  the 

ranks  of  war. 
And  be  your  oriHamme  to-day  the  helmet  of  Navarre." 

Hurrah  !  the  foes  are  moving.      Hark  to  the  minglctl  din 
Of  fife,  and  steed,  and  trump    and   drum,  and  roaring 

culverin ! 
The   fiery   Duke    is  i)ricking   fast  across  Saint  Andre's 

plain, 
With  all  the  hireling  cliivalry  of  Guelders  and  .Mmayne. 


SONGS   OF  BATTLE,   BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     87 

Now  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen  of 
France, 

Charge  for  the  Golden  Lilies  now  — •  upon  them  with  the 
lance  ! 

A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep,  a  thousand  spears  in 
rest, 

A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  close  behind  the  snow- 
white  crest ; 

And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while,  like  a 
guiding  star. 

Amidst  the  thickest  carnage  blazed  the  helmet  of 
Navarre. 

Now,  God  be  praised,   the  day  is  ours !  Mayenne  hath 

turned  his  rein. 
D'Aumale  hath  cried  for  quarter.     The  Flemish  Count 

is  slain. 
Their  ranks  are  breaking  like  thin  clouds  before  a  Bis- 
cay gale ; 
The  field  is  heaped  with  bleeding  steeds,  and  flags,  and 

cloven    mail ; 
And  then,  we  thought  on  vengeance,  and,  all  along  our 

van, 
"  Remember  St.  Bartholomew,  "  was  passed  from  man  to 

man; 
But  out  spake  gentle  Henry,   "  No  Frenchman  is  my 

foe : 
Down,  down  with  every  foreigner,  but  let  your  brethren 

go." 
Oh  !  was  there  ever  such  a  knight,  in  friendship  or  in 

war, 
As  our  Sovereign    Lord  King    Henry,  the    soldier    of 

Navarre ! 


88  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Ho  !  maidens  of  Vienna  !     Ho  !  matrons  of  Lucerne  ! 
Weep,  weep,  and  rend  your  hair  for  those  who  never 

shall  return. 
Ho!   Philip,  send,  for  charity,  thy  Mexican  pistoles, 
That  Antwerp  monks  may  sing  a  mass  for  thy  poor 

spearmen's  souls ! 
Ho  !  gallant  nobles  of  the  League,  look  that  your  arms 

be  bright ! 
Ho  !  burghers  of  Saint  Genevieve,  keep  watch  and  ward 

to-night ! 
For  our  God  hath  crushed   the   tyrant,  our  God  hath 

raised  the  slave. 
And  mocked  the  counsel  of  the  wise,  and  the  valor  of 

the  brave. 
Then  glory  to  His  holy  name,  from  whom  all  glories 

are ; 
And  glory    to    our    Sovereign    Lord,    King    Henry   of 

Navarre.  _  ^^^^  Macaulay. 


lO. 

THE   ARMADA. 

Attend,  all  ye  who  list  to  hear  our  noble  England's 

praise ; 
I   sing   of   the    thrice    famous    deeds    she    wrought   in 

ancient  days. 
When   that  great  fleet   invincible  against  her  bore,  in 

vain 
The   richest    spoils  of    Mexico,  the    stoutest    hearts  in 

Spain. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     89 

It  was   about   the    lovely  close    of    a  warm    summer's 

day, 
There  came    a   gallant  merchant-ship   full  sail  to   Ply- 
mouth bay ; 
The  crew   had  seen   Castile's  black  fleet,  beyond  Au- 

rigny's  isle, 
At  earliest  twilight,  on  the  waves  lie  heaving  many  a 

mile. 
At  sunrise   she  escaped  their  van,   by   God's  especial 

grace ; 
And  the  tall  Pinta,  till  the  noon,  had  held  her  close  in 

chase. 
Forthwith  a  guard  at  every  gun  was  placed  along  the 

wall ; 
The  beacon  blazed  upon  the  roof  of  Edgecumbe's  lofty 

hall; 
Many  a  light    fishing-bark  put  out  to   pry  along  the 

coast ; 
And  with  loose  rein  and  bloody  spur  rode  inland  many 

a  post. 

With  his  white  hair  unbonneted,  the  stout  old  sheriff 

comes ; 
Behind  him  march  the  halberdiers ;    before  him  sound 

the  drums  : 
The   yeomen    round  the    market  cross  make  clear  an 

ample  space ; 
For  there  behoves  him  to  set  up  the  standard  of  Her 

Grace : 
And  haughtily  the  trumpets  peal,  and  gaily  dance  the 

bells, 
As    slow    upon    the    laboring    wind    the    royal    blazon 

swells. 


90  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Look    how    the    Lion    of   the    sea   lifts  up  his  ancient 

crown, 
And  underneath  his  deadly  paw  treads  the    gay  lilies 

down  ! 
So  stalked  he  when  he  turned  to  flight,  on  that  famed 

Picard  field, 
Bohemia's  plume,  and  Genoa's  bow,  and  Caesar's  eagle 

shield. 
So  glared  he  went  at  Agincourt  in  wrath  he  turned  to 

bay, 
And  crushed,  and  torn  beneath  his  claws  the  princely 

hunters  lay. 
Ho !  strike  the  flagstaff  deep.  Sir  Knight :  ho  !  scatter 

flowers,  fair  maids  ! 
Ho,  gunners  !  fire  a  loud  salute  :  ho  !  gallants,  draw  your 

blades : 
Thou  sun,  shine  on  her  joyously  ;  ye  breezes,  waft  her 

wide ; 
Our  glorious  semper  eadem  !  the  banner  of  our  pride. 


The  fresh'ning  breeze  of  eve  unfurled  that  banner's 
massy  fold  — 

The  parting  gleam  of  sunshine  kissed  that  haughty 
scroll  of  gold  : 

Night  sank  upon  the  dusky  beach,  and  on  the  purple 
sea ; 

Such  night  in  England  ne'er  had  been,  nor  e'er  again 
shall  be. 

From  Eddystone  to  Berwick  bounds,  from  Lynn  to  Mil- 
ford  Bay, 

That  time  of  slumber  was  as  bright  and  busy  as  the 
day; 


SOJVGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     91 

For  swift  to  east  and  swift  to  west  the  ghastly  war- 
fiame  spread  — 

High  on  St.  Michael's  Mount  it  shone  —  it  shone  on 
Beachy  Head : 

Far  o'er  the  deep  the  Spaniard  saw,  along  each  south- 
ern shire, 

Cape  beyond  cape,  in  endless  range,  those  twinkling 
points  of  fire. 

The  fisher  left  his  skiff  to  rock  on  Tamar's  glittering 
waves. 

The  rugged  miners  poured  to  war  from  Mendip's  sun- 
less caves ; 

O'er  Longleat's  towers,  o'er  Cranbourne's  oaks,  the 
fiery  herald  flew  : 

He  roused  the  shepherds  of  Stonehenge  —  the  rangers 
of  Beaulieu. 

Right  sharp  and  quick  the  bells  rang  out  all  night  from 
Bristol  town, 

And,  ere  the  day,  three  hundred  horse  had  met  on 
Clifton  Down. 

The  sentinel  on  Whitehall  gate  looked  forth  into  the 

night. 
And   saw,    o'erhanging   Richmond   Hill,  that  streak  of 

blood-red  light : 
The    bugle's    note    and    cannon's    roar    the    death-like 

silence  broke, 
And  with  one   start,  and  with  one  cry,  the   royal   city 

woke. 
At  once  on  all  her  stately  gates  arose  the  answering 

fires; 
At  once  the  wild  alarum  clashed  from   all    her   reeling 

spires ; 


92  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

From  all  the  batteries  of  the  Tower  pealed    loud  the 

voice  of  fear ; 
And    all   the  thousand  masts  of   Thames  sent  back  a 

louder  cheer : 
And    from    the    furthest  wards  was  heard  the  rush  of 

hurrying  feet, 
And  the  broad  streams  of  pikes  and  fiags  rushed  down 

each  roaring  street ; 
And  broader  still   became  the  blaze,  and    louder   still 

the  din, 
As  fast  from  every  village  round  the  horse  came  spur- 
ring in ; 
And  eastward  straight  from  wild  Blackheath  the  war- 
like errand  went, 
And  roused  in  many  an  ancient  hall  the  gallant  squires 

of  Kent : 
Southward  from  Surrey's  pleasant  hills  flew  those  bright 

couriers  forth  ; 
High  on  bleak  Hampstead's  swarthy  moor  they  started 

for  the  north  ; 
And  on,  and  on,  without  a  pause,  untired  they  bounded 

still; 
All  night  from  tower  to  tower  they  sprang  ;  they  sprang 

from  hill  to  hill ; 
Till   the    proud    peak   unfurled    the  flag  o'er  Darwin's 

rocky  dales ; 
Till  like  volcanoes  flared  to  heaven  the  stormy  hills  of 

Wales ; 
Till  twelve  fair   counties  saw  the  blaze  on   Malvern's 

lonely  height ; 
Till    streamed    in    crimson   on    the   wind  the  Wrekin's 

crest  of  light ; 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     93 

Till  broad  and  fierce  the  star  came  forth,  on  Ely's  stately 
fane, 

And  tower  and  hamlet  rose  in  arms  o'er  all  the  bound- 
less plain  ; 

Till  Belvoir's  lordly  terraces  the  sign  to  Lincoln  sent, 

And  Lincoln  sped  the  message  on  o'er  the  wide  vale  of 
Trent : 

Till  Skiddaw  saw  the  fire  that  burnt  on  Gaunt's  em- 
battled pile. 

And  the  red  glare  on  Skiddaw  roused  the  burghers  of 

^^^^^^^^'  ,         —Lord  Macaulay. 


YE   MARINERS   OF   ENGLAND. 


Ye  Mariners  of  England ! 
That  guard  our  native  seas  ; 
Whose  flag  has  braved,  a  thousand  years, 
The  battle  and  the  breeze ! 
Your  glorious  standard  launch  again 
To  match  another  foe  ! 
And  sweep  through  the  deep, 
While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow ; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 


The  spirits  of  your  fathers 

Shall  start  from  every  wave !  — 

For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame, 


94  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

And  Ocean  was  their  <;rave : 
Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell, 
Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow, 
As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep, 
While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow ; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

III. 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwarks, 

No  towers  along  the  steep ; 

Her  march  is  o'er  the  mountain-waves, 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 

With  thunders  from  her  native  oak, 

She  quells  the  floods  below,  — 

As  they  roar  on  the  shore. 

When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow  ; 

When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long. 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

IV. 

The  meteor  flag  of  England 

Shall  yet  terrific  burn  ; 

Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart, 

And  the  star  of  peace  return. 

Then,  then,  ye  ocean-warriors  ! 

Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 

To  the  fame  of  your  name, 

When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow ; 

When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more. 

And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 

—  ThOM.VS   CAMI'BELL. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     95 


THE   BATTLE   OF    NASEBY. 

BV  OBADIAH  BIND -THEIR- KINGS  -  IN  -  CHAINS  -  AND -THEIR- 
NOBLES  -  WITH  -  LINKS  -  OF  -  IRON,  SERGEANT  IN  IRETON's 
REGIMENT. 

Oh  !    wherefore   come  ye  forth,   in  triumph   from  the 
North, 
With  your  hands,  and  your  feet,  and  your  raiment  all 
red  ? 
And  wherefore   doth   your   rout   send    forth   a   joyous 
shout  ? 
And  whence  be  the  grapes  of  the  wine-press  which 
ye  tread  ? 

Oh  evil  was  the  root,  and  bitter  was  the  fruit, 

And  crimson  was  the  juice  of  the  vintage  that  we 
trod; 
For  we  trampled  on  the  throng  of  the  haughty  and  the 
strong, 
Who  sate  in  the  high  places  and  slew  the  saints  of 
God. 

It  was  about  the  noon  of  a  glorious  day  of  June, 
j        That  we  saw  their  banners  dance,  and  their  cuirasses 
shine, 
And  the  Man  of  Blood  was  there,  with  his  long  essenced 
hair, 
And  Astley,  and  Sir  Marmaduke,  and  Rupert  of  the 
Rhine. 


96  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Like   a  servant    of  the   Lord,   with   his   Bible  and   his 
sword, 
The  General  rode  along  us  to  form  us  for  the  fight. 
When  a  murmuring  sound  broke  out,  and  swelled  into  a 
shout, 
Among    the    godless    horsemen    upon    the    tyrant's 
riffht. 


And  hark !  like  the  roar  of  the  billows  on  the  shore, 

The  cry  of  battle  rises  along  their  charging  line ! 
For    God !    for   the    Cause  !    for  the    Church  !    for   the 
Laws  ! 
For  Charles    King  of  England   and   Rupert  of  the 
Rhine ! 


The  furious  German  comes,  with  his  clarions  and  his 
drums. 
His  bravoes  of  Alsatia,  and  pages  of  Whitehall; 
They  are  bursting  on   our  flanks.     Grasp  your  pikes, 
close  your  ranks ; 
For  Rupert  never  comes  but  to  conquer  or  to  fall. 


They  are  here  !     They  rush  on !     We  are  broken  !     We 
are  gone  ! 
Our  left  is  borne  before  them   like   stubble  on   the 
blast. 
O    Lord,   put    forth    thy    might !     O   Lord,  defend  the 
right ! 
Stand  back  to  back,  in  God's  name,  and  fight  it  to  the 
last. 


solves  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     97 

Stout   Skippon   hath    a  wound  ;  the  centre  hath  given 
ground  : 
Hark  !  hark !  —  what  means  the  trampling  of  horse- 
men on  our  rear  ? 
Whose  banner  do  I  see,  boys  ?    'Tis  he,  thank  God,  'tis 
he,  boys. 
Bear  up  another  minute :  brave  Oliver  is  here. 


Their  heads  all  stooping  low,  their  points  all  in  a  row, 
Like  a  whirlwind  on  the  trees,  like  a  deluge  on  the 
dykes. 
Our  cuirassiers  have  burst  on  the  ranks  of   the   Ac- 
curst, 
And  at  a   shock   have   scattered   the  forest   of   his 
pikes. 


Fast,  fast,  the  gallants  ride,  in  some  safe  nook  to  hide 
Their  coward  heads,  predestined  to  rot  on  Temple 
Bar; 
And  he  —  he  turns,  he  flies  :  —  shame  on  those  cruel 
eyes 
That  bore  to  look  on  torture,  and  dare  not  look  on 
war. 


I  Ho  !  comrades,  scour  the  plain  ;  and,  ere  ye  strip  the 

I  slain, 

j       First  give  another  stab  to  make  your  search  secure, 

1  Then  shake  from  sleeves  and  pockets  their  broad-pieces 

j  and  lockets, 

I       The  tokens  of  the  wanton,  the  plunder  of  the  poor. 


98  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Fools !  your  doublets  shone  with  gold,  and  your  hearts 
were  gay  and  bold, 
When    you  kissed    your  lily  hands   to    your  lemans 
to-day  ; 
And  to-morrow  shall  the  fox,  from  her  chambers  in  the 
rocks. 
Lead  forth  her  tawny  cubs  to  howl  above  the  prey. 

Where   be  your  tongues  that  late  mocked  at  heaven 
and  hell  and  fate, 
And  the  fingers  that  once  were  so   busy  with  your 
blades. 
Your  perfumed   satin   clothes,   your  catches  and  your 
oaths, 
Your  stage-plays  and  your  sonnets,  your  diamonds 
and  your  spades  ? 

Down,   down,   for  ever  down  with  the   mitre  and  the 
crown. 
With  the  Belial  of  the  Court  and  the  Mammon  of  the 
Pope  ! 
There  is  woe  in  Oxford  halls ;  there  is  wail  in  Durham's 
Stalls  ; 
The  Jesuit  smites  his  bosom;  the  Bishop  rends  his 
cope. 

And  She  of  the  seven  hills  shall  mourn  her  children's  ills, 
And  tremble  when  she  thinks  on  the  edge  of  Eng- 
land's sword ; 
And  the  Kings  of  earth  in  fear  shall  shudder  when  they 
hear 
What  the  hand  of  God  hath  wrought  for  the  Houses 
and  the  Word.  _  loru  Macaulay. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     99 

13- 
THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BALTIC. 


Of  Nelson  and  the  North, 
Sing  the  glorious  day's  renown, 
When  to  battle  fierce  came  forth 
All  the  might  of  Denmark's  crown, 
And  her  arms  along  the  deep  proudly  shone ; 
By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand, 
In  a  bold  determined  hand, 
And  the  Prince  of  all  the  land 
Led  them  on.  — 


Like  leviathans  afloat. 

Lay  their  bulwarks  on  the  brine ; 

While  the  sign  of  battle  flew 

On  the  lofty  British  line ; 

It  was  ten  of  April  morn  by  the  chime : 

As  they  drifted  on  their  path. 

There  was  silence  deep  as  death ; 

And  the  boldest  held  his  breath, 

For  a  time.  — 

III. 

But  the  might  of  England  flushed 

To  anticipate  the  scene  ; 

And  her  van  the  fleeter  rushed 

O'er  the  deadly  space  between. 

"  Hearts  of  oak  !  "  our  captains  cried ;  when  each  gun 

From  its  adamantine  lips 


100  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Spread  a  death-shade  round  the  ships, 
Like  the  hurricane  eclipse 
Of  the  sun. 

IV. 

Again  !  again  !  again  ! 

And  the  havoc  did  not  slack, 

Till  a  feeble  cheer  the  Dane 

To  our  cheering  sent  us  back  ;  — 

Their  shots  along  the  deep  slowly  boom  :  — 

Then  ceased  —  and  all  is  wail, 

As  they  strike  the  shattered  sail, 

Or,  in  conflagration  pale. 

Light  the  gloom.  — 

V. 

Out  spoke  the  victor  then. 

As  he  hailed  them  o'er  the  wave  ; 

"Ye  are  brothers  !  ye  are  men  ! 

And  we  conquer  but  to  save  :  — 

So  peace  instead  of  death  let  us  bring ; 

But  yield,  proud  foe,  thy  fleet. 

With  the  crews,  at  England's  feet, 

And  make  submission  meet 

To  our  King."  — 

VI. 

Then  Denmark  blest  our  chief. 

That  he  gave  her  wounds  repose  ; 

And  the  sounds  of  joy  and  grief 

From  her  pcojile  wildly  rose. 

As  death  withdrew  his  shades  from  the  day. 

While  the  sun  looked  smiling  bright 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     101 

O'er  a  wide  and  woeful  sight, 
Where  the  fires  of  funeral  light 
Died  away. 

VII. 

Now  joy,  old  England,  raise  ! 
For  the  tidings  of  thy  might, 
By  the  festal  cities'  blaze. 
While  the  wine-cup  shines  in  light ; 
And  yet  amidst  that  joy  and  uproar, 
Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep, 
Full  many  a  fathom  deep. 
By  thy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 
Elsinore ! 

VIII. 

Brave  hearts  !  to  Britain's  pride 

Once  so  faithful  and  so  true. 

On  the  deck  of  fame  that  died  ;  — 

With  the  gallant  good  Riou  : 

Soft  sigh  the  winds  of  Heaven  o'er  their  grave  ! 

While  the  billow  mournful  rolls 

And  the  mermaid's  song  condoles. 

Singing  glory  to  the  souls 

Of  the  brave  !  —  _  Thomas  Campbell. 


14. 

HOHENLINDEN. 

On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow ; 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 


102  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight, 
When  the  drum  beat  at  dead  of  night, 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  arrayed, 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle-blade, 
And  furious  every  charger  neighed 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

Then  shook  the  hills,  with  thunder  riven ; 
Then  rushed  the  steed,  to  battle  driven ; 
And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  Heaven 
Far  flashed  the  red  artillery. 

But  redder  yet  that  light  shall  glow 
On  Linden's  hills  of  stained  snow, 
And  bloodier  yet  the  torrent  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

'Tis  morn ;  but  scarce  yon  level  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war-clouds,  rolling  dun, 
Where  furious  Frank  and  fiery  Hun 
Shout  in  their  sulphurous  canopy. 

The  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  brave, 
Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave ! 
Wave,  Munich,  all  thy  banners  wave, 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry ! 

Few,  few  shall  part,  where  many  meet ; 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet ; 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre. 

—  Thomas  Campbell. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     103 

15- 

THE   BATTLE. 

I.    BEFORE. 

By  the  hope  within  us  springing, 

Herald  of  to-morrow's  strife  ; 
By  that  sun  whose  hght  is  bringing 

Chains  or  freedom,  death  or  Hfe  — 
Oh  !  remember  life  can  be 
No  charm  for  him  who  lives  not  free ! 

Like  the  day-star  in  the  wave 

Sinks  a  hero  in  his  grave, 
'Midst  the  dew-fall  of  a  nation's  tears. 

Happy  is  he  o'er  whose  decline 
The  smiles  of  home  may  soothing  shine, 
And  light  him  down  the  steep  of  years  — 
But  oh !  how  blessed  they  sink  to  rest, 
Who  close  their  eyes  on  victory's  breast ! 

O'er  his  watch-fire's  fading  embers 
Now  the  foeraan's  cheek  turns  white. 

When  his  heart  that  field  remembers, 
Where  we  tamed  his  tyrant  might ! 

Never  let  him  bind  again 

A  chain,  like  that  we  broke  from  then. 

Hark!  the  horn  of  combat  calls  — 

Ere  the  golden  evening  falls, 
May  we  pledge  that  horn  in  triumph  round ! 

Many  a  heart  that  now  beats  high. 
In  slumber  cold  at  night  shall  lie, 
Nor  waken  even  at  victory's  sound  — 


104  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

But  oh  !   how  blessed  that  hero's  sleep, 
O'er  whom  a  wondering  world  shall  weep. 

II.    AFTER. 

Night  closed  around  the  conqueror's  way 
And  lightnings  showed  the  distant  hill, 

Where  those  who  lost  that  dreadful  day, 
Stood  few  and  faint,  but  fearless  still. 

The  soldier's  hope,  the  patriot's  zeal, 
Forever  dimmed,  forever  crost  — 

Oh !  who  shall  say  what  heroes  feel. 
When  all  but  life  and  honor's  lost .-' 

The  last  sad  hour  of  freedom's  dream. 
And  valor's  task,  moved  slowly  by. 

While  mute  they  watched,  till  morning's  beam 
Should  rise  and  give  them  light  to  die. 

There's  yet  a  world,  where  souls  are  free, 
Where  tyrants  taint  not  nature's  bliss  ;  — ■ 

If  death  that  world's  bright  opening  be, 
Oh !  who  would  live  a  slave  in  this } 

—  Thomas  Moore. 


i6. 
THE   END   OF   THE   SIEGE. 

They  have  fetched  the  steed  with  care,  in  the  harness 

he  did  wear. 

Toll  slozvly. 

Past  the  court  and  through  the  doors,  across  the  rushes 
of  the  floors. 

But  they  goad  him  uj)  the  stair. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,   AND  PATRIOTISM.     105 

Then  from  out  her  bower  chambere,  did  the  Duchess 

May  repair : 

Toll  slcnvly. 

"Tell  me  now  what  is  your  need,"  said  the  lady,  "of 
this  steed, 

That  ye  goad  him  up  the  stair  ?  " 

Calm  she  stood ;  unbodkined  through,  fell  her  dark  hair 

to  her  shoe ; 

Toll  sloivly. 

And  the  smile  upon  her  face,  ere  she  left  the  tiring-glass, 
Had  not  time  enough  to  go. 

"  Get  thee  back,  sweet  Duchess  May  !  hope  is  gone  Hke 

yesterday. 

Toll  slozvly. 

"  One   half-hour  completes  the  breach :    and  thy   lord 
grows  wild  of  speech  — 

Get  thee  in,  sweet  lady,  and  pray ! 

"  In  the  east  tower,  highest  of  all,  loud  he  cries  for  steed 

from  stall : 

71?//  slozvly. 

"  He  would  ride  as  far,"  quoth  he,  "  as  for  love  and 
victory. 

Though  he  rides  the  castle  wall. 

"  And  we  fetch  the  steed  from  stall,  up  where  never  a 
hoof  did  fall  — 

Toll  sloivly. 

"  Wifely  prayer  meets  deathly   need :   may  the  sweet 
Heavens  hear  thee  plead 

If  he  rides  the  castle  wall!  " 


106  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Low  she  dropt  her  head,  and  lower,  till  her  hair  coiled 

on  the  floor, 

Toll  slowly. 

And  tear  after  tear  you  heard  fall  distinct  as  any  word 
Which  you  might  be  listening  for. 

"  Get  thee  in,  thou  soft  ladye !  here  is  never  a  place  for 

Toll  slowly. 

"  Braid  thine  hair  and  clasp  thy  gown,  that  thy  beauty 
in  its  moan 

May  find  grace  with  Leigh  of  Leigh." 

She  stood  up  in  bitter  case,  with  a  pale  yet  steady  face. 

Toll  sloivly. 

Like  a  statue  thunderstruck,  which,  though  quivering, 
seems  to  look 

Right  against  the  thunder-place. 

And  her  foot  trod  in,  with  pride,  her  own  tears  i'  the 
stone  beside,  — 

Toll  sloivly. 

"Go  to,  faithful   friends,  go  to!    judge  no  more  what 
ladies  do. 

No,  nor  how  their  lords  may  ride  !  " 

Then  the  good  steed's  rein  she  took,  and  his  neck  did 
kiss  and  stroke : 

Toll  slowly. 

Soft  he  neighed  to  answer  her,  and  then  followed  up 
the  stair 

For  the  love  of  her  sweet  look : 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,   BE  A  VERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     107 

Oh,   and   steeply,   steeply  wound  up  the  narrow  stair 

around, 

Toll  slozvly. 

Oh,  and  closely,  closely  speeding,  step  by  step  beside 
her  treading. 

Did  he  follow,  meek  as  hound. 

On  the  east  tower  highest  of  all,  —  there,  where  never  a 
hoof  did  fall,  — 

Toll  slozvly. 

Out  they  swept,  a  vision  steady,  noble  steed  and  lovely 
lady, 

Calm  as  if  in  bower  or  stall. 

Down  she  knelt  at  her  lord's  knee,  and  she  looked  up 

silently, 

Toll  slozvly. 

And  he  kissed  her  twice  and  thrice,  for  that  look  within 
her  eyes 

Which  he  could  not  bear  to  see. 

Quoth  he,  "  Get  thee  from  this  strife,  and  the  sweet 
saints  bless  thy  life  ! 

Toll  slozvly. 

"  In  this  hour  I  stand  in  need  of  my  noble  red-roan  steed, 
But  no  more  of  my  noble  wife." 

Quoth  she,  "  Meekly  have  I  done  all  thy  biddings  under 

sun; 

Toll  slozvly. 

"  But  by  all  my  womanhood,  vyhich  is  proved  so,  true 
and  good, 

I  will  never  do  this  one. 


108  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

"  Now    by    womanhood's    degree    and    by    wifehood's 

verity, 

To/l  slowly. 

"  In    this   hour  if    thou   hast  need  of   thy  noble  roan 
steed, 

Thou  hast  also  need  of  me. 

"  By  this  golden  ring  ye  see  on  this  lifted  hand  pardi6, 
Toll  slowly. 

"  If  this  hour,  on  castle  wall  can  be  room  for  steed  from 
stall. 

Shall  be  also  room  for  me. 

"  So    the    sweet    saints    with    me   be,"   (did    she    utter 

solemnly). 

Toll  sloivly. 

"  If  a  man,  this  eventide,  on  this  castle  wall  will  ride, 
He  shall  ride  the  same  with  me.'' 

Oh,  he  sprang  up  in  the  selle  and  he  laughed  out  bitter- 
well,  — 

Toll  slotuly. 

"  Wouldst  thou  ride  among  the  leaves,  as  we  used  on 
other  eves, 

To  hear  chime  a  vesper-bell  ?  " 

She  clung  closer  to  his  knee  —  "  Ay,  beneath  the  cypress 

tree  ! 

Toll  sloivly. 

"  Mock  me  not,  for  otherwhere  than  along  the  greenwood 
fair 

Have  I  ridden  fast  with  thee. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     109 

"  Fast  I  rode  with  new-made  vows  from  my  angry  kins- 
man's house : 

Toll  slowly. 

"  What,  and  would  you  men  should  reck  that  I   dared 
more  for  love's  sake 

As  a  bride  than  as  a  spouse  ? 

"  What,  and  would  you  it  should  fall,  as  a  proverb,  before 

all, 

Toll  slowly. 

"  That  a  bride  may  keep  your  side  while  through  castle- 
gate  you  ride. 

Yet  eschew  the  castle-wall  ?  " 

Ho !  the  breach  yawns  into  ruin  and  roars  up  against 

her  suing. 

Toll  slozvly. 

With  the  inarticulate  din  and  the  dreadful  falling  in  — 
Shrieks  of  doing  and  undoing. 

Twice  he  wrung  her  hands  in  twain,  but  the  small  hands 

closed  again. 

Toll  slozvly. 

Back  he  reined  the  steed  —  back,  back!  but  she  trailed 
along  his  track 

With  a  frantic  clasp  and  strain. 

Evermore  the  foemen  pour  through  the  crash  of  window 
and  door. 

Toll  slowly. 

And  the  shouts  of  Leigh  and  Leigh,  and  the  shrieks  of 
"kill!"  and  "flee!" 

Strike  up  clear  amid  the  roar. 


110  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Thrice  he  wrung  her  hands  in  twain,  but  they  closed  and 

clung  again, 

1  oil  sloiuly. 

While  she  clung,  as  one,  withstood,  clasps  a  Christ  upon 
the  rood, 

In  a  spasm  of  deathly  pain. 

She  clung  wild  and  she  clung  mute  with  her  shuddering 
lips  half-shut ; 

Toll  slowly. 

Her  head  fallen  as  half  in  swound,  hair  and  knee  swept 
on  the  ground, 

She  clung  wild  to  stirrup  and  foot. 

Back  he  reined  his  steed  back-thrown  on  the  slippery 
coping-stone ; 

Toll  sloivly. 

Back  the  iron  hoofs  did  grind  on  the  battlement  behind 
Whence  a  hundred  feet  went  down  : 

And  his  heel  did  press  and  goad  on  the  quivering  flank 

bestrode,  — 

Toll  slozuly. 

"  Friends  and  brothers,  save  my  wife  !  Pardon,  Sweet,  in 
change  for  life,  — 

But  I  ride  alone  to  God.  " 

Straight  as  if  the  holy  name  had  upbreathed  her  like  a 

flame, 

Toll  sloivly. 

She  upsprang,  she  rose  upright,  in  his  selle  she  sat  in 
sight, 

By  her  love  she  overcame. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     Ill 

And  her  head  was  on  his  breast  where  she  smiled  as  one 

at  rest,  — 

Toll  sloivly. 

"  Ring,  "  she  cried,  "  O  vesper-bell  in  the  beechwood's 
old  chapelle,  — 

But  the  passing-bell  rings  best !  " 

They  have  caught  out  at  the  rein  which  Sir  Guy  threw 
loose  —  in  vain. 

Toll  sloivly. 

For  the  horse  in  stark  despair,  with  his  front  hoofs  poised 
in  air 

On  the  last  verge  rears  amain. 

Now  he  hangs,  he  rocks  between,  and  his  nostrils  curdle 

'  Toll  slowly. 

Now  he  shivers  head  and  hoof,  and  the  flakes  of  foam 
fall  off, 

And  his  face  grows  fierce  and  thin  : 

And  a  look  of  human  woe  from  his  staring  eyes  did  go. 

Toll  sloivly. 

And  a  sharp  cry  uttered  he,  in  a  foretold  agony 
Of  the  headlong  death  below,  — 

And,  "  Ring,  ring,  thou  passing-bell,  "  still  she  cried,  "  i' 
the  old  chapelle  !  " 

Toll  sloivly. 

Then  back-toppling,  crashing  back  —  a  dead  weight  flung 
out  to  wrack, 

Horse  and  riders  overfell. 

—  E.  B.  Browning. 


112  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

17. 

THE    BURIAL   OF   SIR   JOHN    MOORE 
AT   CORUNNA. 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 
As  his  corpse  to  the  ramparts  we  hurried ; 

Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night, 

The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning; 
By  the  struggling  moonbeam's  misty  light, 

And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast, 

Not  in  sheet  nor  in  shroud  we  wound  him ; 

But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said. 

And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow, 
But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  that  was  dead. 

And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

We  thought  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow  bed. 

And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow, 
That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er  his  head, 

And  we  far  away  on  the  billow ! 

Lightly  they'll  talk  of  the  spirit  that's  gone, 

And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him, — 
But  little  he'll  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep  on 

In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BKAVEKY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     Ii3 

But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done 

When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for  retiring : 

And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random  gun 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory ; 

We  carved  not  a  line,  and  we  raised  not  a  stone  — 
But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory. 

—  Charles  Wolfe. 


BATTLE  SONG. 

Day,  like  our  souls,  is  fiercely  dark ; 

What  then  .''     'Tis  day  ! 
We  sleep  no  more  ;  the  cock  crows  —  hark  ! 

To  arms  !  away  ! 
They  come  !  they  come  !  the  knell  is  rung 

Of  us  or  them  ; 
Wide  o'er  their  march  the  pomp  is  flung 

Of  gold  and  gem. 
What  collared  hound  of  lawless  sway, 

To  famine  dear  — 
What  pensioned  slave  of  Attila, 

Leads  in  the  rear } 
Come  they  from  Scythian  wilds  afar, 

Our  blood  to  spill  .-* 
Wear  they  the  livery  of  the  Czar  ? 

They  do  his  will. 
Nor  tasselled  silk,  nor  epaulette, 

Nor  plume,  nor  torse  — 

H 


114  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

No  splendor  gilds,  all  sternly  met, 

Our  foot  and  horse. 
But,  dark  and  still,  we  inly  glow. 

Condensed  in  ire  ! 

Strike,  tawdry  slaves,  and  ye  shall  know 

Our  gloom  is  fire. 
In  vain  your  pomp,  ye  evil  powers, 

Insults  the  land  ; 
Wrongs,  vengeance,  and  tJic  cause  are  ours. 

And  God's  right  hand  ! 
Madmen  !  they  trample  into  snakes 

The  wormy  clod  ! 
Like  fire,  beneath  their  feet  awakes 

The  sword  of  God ! 
Behind,  before,  above,  below, 

They  rouse  the  brave  ; 
Where'er  they  go,  they  make  a  foe. 

Or  find  a  grave.        _  ebenezer  Elliott. 


19. 

THE  WAR-SONG  OF  DINAS  VAWR. 

The  mountain  sheep  are  sweeter, 
But  the  valley  sheep  are  fatter ; 
We  therefore  deemed  it  meeter 
To  carry  off  the  latter. 
We  made  an  expedition  ; 
We  met  an  host  and  quelled  it ; 
We  forced  a  strong  position. 
And  killed  the  men  who  held  it. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,   BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     U5 

On  Dyfed's  richest  valley, 

Where  herds  of  kine  were  browsing, 

We  made  a  mighty  sally, 

To  furnish  our  carousing. 

Fierce  warriors  rushed  to  meet  us ; 

We  met  them,  and  o'erthrew  them  : 

They  struggled  hard  to  beat  us  ; 

But  we  conquered  them,  and  slew  them. 

As  we  drove  our  prize  at  leisure, 
The  king  marched  forth  to  catch  us  : 
His  rage  surpassed  all  measure. 
But  his  people  could  not  match  us. 
He  fled  to  his  hall-pillars ; 
And,  ere  our  force  we  led  off, 
Some  sacked  his  house  and  cellars, 
While  others  cut  his  head  off. 

We  there,  in  strife  bewildering, 
Spilt  blood  enough  to  swim  in  : 
We  orphaned  man}^  children, 
And  widowed  many  women. 
The  eagles  and  the  ravens 
We  glutted  with  our  foemen  : 
The  heroes  and  the  cravens. 
The  spearmen  and  the  bowmen. 

And  much  their  land  bemoaned  them. 

Two  thousand  head  of  cattle, 

And  the  head  of  him  who  owned  them  : 

Ednyfed,  King  of  Dyfed, 

His  head  was  borne  before  us ; 

His  wine  and  beasts  supplied  our  feasts, 

And  his  overthrow,  our  chorus. 

«—  Thomas  Love  Peacock. 


116  CHOICE   EX  G  LI  SI  I  LYRICS. 

20. 

THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  SENNACHERIB. 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  a  wolf  on  the  fold, 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and  gold ; 
And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars  on  the  sea, 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee. 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  Summer  is  green, 
That  host  with  their  banners  at  sunset  were  seen  ; 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  Autumn  hath  blown, 
That  host  on  the  morrow  lay  withered  and  strown. 

For  the  Angel  of  Death  spread  his  wings  on  the  blast. 
And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he  passed  ; 
And  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers  waxed  deadly  and  chill, 
And  their  hearts  but  once  heaved,  and  forever  grew 

still ! 

And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his  nostril  all  wide. 
But  through  it  there  rolled  not  the  breath  of  his  pride ; 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white  on  the  turf. 
And  cold  as  the  spray  of  the  rock-beating  surf. 

And  there  lay  the  rider  distorted  and  pale, 
With  the  dew  on  his  brow,  and  the  rust  on  his  mail ; 
And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners  alone, 
The  lances  unlifted,  the  trumpet  unblown. 

And  the  widows  of  Ashur  are  loud  in  their  wail, 
And  the  idols  are  broke  in  the  temple  of  Baal  ; 
And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmotc  by  the  sword, 
Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of  the  Lord ! 

—  Lord  Byron. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     117 


THE   SOLDIER'S    DREAM. 

Our  bugles  sang  truce ;  for  the  night-cloud  had  lowered, 
And  the  sentinel  stars  set  their  watch  in  the  sky ; 

And  thousands  had  sunk  on  the  ground  overpowered  — 
The  weary  to  sleep,  and  the  wounded  to  die. 

When  reposing  that  night  on  my  pallet  of  straw, 
By  the  wolf-scaring  fagot  that  guarded  the  slain, 

At  the  dead  of  the  night  a  sweet  vision  I  saw, 
And  thrice  ere  the  morning  I  dreamt  it  again. 

Methought  from  the  battle-field's  dreadful  array, 
Far,  far  I  had  roamed  on  a  desolate  track ; 

'Twas  autumn  —  and  sunshine  arose  on  the  way 

To  the  home  of  my  fathers,  that  welcomed  me  back. 

I  flew  to  the  pleasant  fields  traversed  so  oft 

In  life's  morning  march,  when  my  bosom  was  young ; 

I  heard  my  own  mountain-goats  bleating  aloft. 

And  knew  the  sweet  strain  that  the  corn-reapers  sung. 

Then  pledged  we  the  wine-cup,  and  fondly  I  swore 
From  my  home  and  my  weeping  friends  never  to  part ; 

My  little  ones  kissed  me  a  thousand  times  o'er, 
And  my  wife  sobbed  aloud  in  her  fulness  of  heart. 

"  Stay,  stay  with  us !  —  rest ;  thou  art  weary  and  worn ! " 
And  fain  was  their  war-broken  soldier  to  stay ; 

But  sorrow  returned  with  the  dawning  of  morn, 
And  the  voice  in  my  dreaming  ear  melted  away ! 

—  Thomas  Campbell. 


118  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 


22. 


THE   MINSTREL-BOY. 

The  Minstrel-boy  to  the  war  is  gone, 

In  the  ranks  of  death  you'll  find  him ; 
His  father's  sword  he  has  girded  on, 

And  his  wild  harp  slung  behind  him.  — 
"  Land  of  song  !  "  said  the  warrior-bard, 

"  Though  all  the  world  betrays  thee. 
One  sword,  at  least,  thy  rights  shall  guard. 

One  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thee  !  " 

The  Minstrel  fell!  —  but  the  foeman's  chain 

Could  not  bring  his  proud  soul  under ; 
The  harp  he  loved  ne'er  spoke  again, 

For  he  tore  its  chords  asunder ; 
And  said,  "  No  chains  shall  sully  thee, 

Thou  soul  of  love  and  bravery ! 
Thy  songs  were  made  for  the  brave  and  free, 

They  shall  never  sound  in  slavery  !  " 

—  Thomas  Moore, 


23- 
THE   LAST    BUCCANIER. 

Oh  England  is  a  pleasant  place  for  them  that's  rich  and 

high. 
But  England  is  a  cruel  place  for  such  poor  folks  as  I ; 
And  such  a  port  for  mariners  I  shall  ne'er  see  again 
As  the  pleasant  Isle  of  Aves,  beside  the  Spanish  main. 


SOXGS   OF  BATTLE,   BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.      119 

There  were  forty  craft  in  Aves  that  were  both  swift  and 

stout, 
All  furnished  well  with  small  arms  and  cannons  round 

about ; 
And  a  thousand  men  in  Aves  made  laws  so  fair  and 

free 
To  choose  their  valiant  captains  and  obey  them  loyally. 

Thence  we  sailed  against  the  Spaniard  with  his  hoards 

of  plate  and  gold, 
Which  he  wrung  with  cruel  tortures  from  Indian  folk 

of  old  ; 
Likewise  the  merchant  captains,  with  hearts  as  hard  as 

stone, 
Who  flog  men  and  keel-haul  them,  and  starve  them  to 

the  bone. 


Oh  the  palms  grew  high  in  Aves,  and  fruits  that  shone 
like  gold ; 

And  the  colibris  and  parrots  they  were  gorgeous  to  be- 
hold; 

And  the  negro  maids  to  Aves  from  bondage  fast  did 
flee. 

To  welcome  gallant  sailors,  a-sweeping  in  from  sea. 

Oh  sweet  it  was  in  Aves  to  hear  the  landward  breeze 
A-swing  with  good  tobacco  in  a  net  between  the  trees. 
With  a  negro  lass  to  fan  you,  while  you  listened  to  the 

roar 
Of  the  breakers  on  the  reef  outside,  that  never  touched 

the  shore. 


120  CHOICE   ENGLISH  lYRICS. 

But  Scripture  saith,  an  ending  to  all  fine  things  must  be; 
So  the  King's  ships  sailed  on  Aves,  and  quite  put  down 

were  we. 
All  day  we  fought  like  bulldogs,  but  they  burst  the 

booms  at  night ; 
And  I  fled  in  a  piragua,  sore  wounded,  from  the  fight. 

Nine  days  I  floated  starving,  and  a  negro  lass  beside. 
Till  for  all  I  tried  to  cheer  her,  the  poor  young  thing 

she  died ; 
But  as  I  lay  a-gasping,  a  Bristol  sail  came  by. 
And  brought  me  home  to  England  here,  to  beg  until 

Idle. 

And   now    I'm  old  and  going — I'm  sure  I  can't  tell 

where ; 
One  comfort  is,  this  world's  so  hard,  I  can't  be  worse 

off  there : 
If  I  might  but  be  a  sea-dove,  I'd  fly  across  the  main. 
To  the  pleasant  Isle  of  Aves,  to  look  at  it  once  again. 

—  Charles  Kingsley. 


24. 

MY   NATIVE   VALE. 

Dear  is  my  little  native  vale. 

The  ring-dove  builds  and  murmurs  there ; 

Close  by  my  cot  she  tells  her  tale 

To  every  ])assing  villager. 

The  squirrel  leaps  from  tree  to  tree 

And  shells  his  nuts  at  liberty. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  TATRIOTISM.     121 

In  orange-groves  and  myrtle-bow'rs, 
That  breathe  a  gale  of  fragrance  round, 
I  charm  the  fairy-footed  hours 
With  my  loved  lute's  romantic  sound ; 
Or  crowns  of  living  laurel  weave, 
For  those  that  win  the  race  at  eve. 

The  shepherd's  horn  at  break  of  day, 
The  ballet  danced  in  twilight  glade, 
The  canzonet  and  roundelay 
Sung  in  the  silent  green-wood  shade ; 
These  simple  joys,  that  never  fail. 
Shall  bind  me  to  my  native  vale. 

—  Samuel  Rogers. 


25- 

"I   TRAVELLED   AMONG   UNKNOWN    MEN." 

I  TRAVELLED  among  unknown  men. 

In  lands  beyond  the  sea  ; 
Nor,  England,  did  I  know  till  then 

What  love  I  bore  to  thee. 

'Tis  past,  that  melancholy  dream ! 

Nor  will  I  quit  thy  shore 
A  second  time ;  for  still  I  seem 

To  love  thee  more  and  more. 

Among  thy  mountains  did  I  feel 

The  joy  of  my  desire  ; 
And  she  I  cherished  turned  her  wheel 

Beside  an  English  fire. 


122  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Thy  mornings  showed,  thy  nights  concealed 
The  bowers  where  Lucy  played ; 

And  thine  is  too  the  last  green  field 
That  Lucy's  eyes  surveyed. 

—  William  Wordsworth. 


26. 
THE  ISLES   OF  GREECE. 

The  isles  of  Greece,  the  isles  of  Greece ! 

Where  burning  Sappho  loved  and  sung, 
Where  grew  the  arts  of  war  and  peace,  — 

Where  Delos  rose,  and  Phoebus  sprung ! 
Eternal  summer  gilds  them  yet, 
But  all,  except  their  sun,  is  set. 

The  Scian  and  the  Teian  muse. 
The  hero's  harp,  the  lover's  lute. 

Have  found  the  fame  your  shores  refuse ; 
Their  place  of  birth  alone  is  mute 

To  sounds  which  echo  further  west 

Than  your  sires'  "  Islands  of  the  Blest." 

The  mountains  look  on  Marathon  — 
And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea  ; 

And  musing  there  an  hour  alone, 

I  dreamed  that  Greece  might  still  be  free ; 

For  standing  on  the  Persians'  grave, 

I  could  not  deem  myself  a  slave. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,   AND  PATRIOTISM.     123 

A  king  sat  on  the  rocky  brow 

Which  looks  o'er  sea-born  Salamis; 

And  ships  by  thousands  lay  below, 
And  men  in  nations  ;  —  all  were  his  ! 

He  counted  them  at  break  of  day  — 

And  when  the  sun  set,  where  were  they  ? 

And  where  are  they  ?  and  where  art  thou, 
My  country  ?     On  thy  voiceless  shore 

The  heroic  lay  is  tuneless  now  — 
The  heroic  bosom  beats  no  more  ! 

And  must  thy  lyre,  so  long  divine, 

Degenerate  into  hands  like  mine  ? 

'Tis  something,  in  the  dearth  of  fame. 
Though  linked  among  a  fettered  race. 

To  feel  at  least  a  patriot's  shame. 
Even  as  I  sing,  suffuse  my  face ; 

For  what  is  left  the  poet  here  ? 

For  Greeks  a  blush  —  for  Greece  a  tear. 

Must  we  but  weep  o'er  days  more  blest? 

Must  we  but  blush  ?  —  Our  fathers  bled. 
Earth !  render  back  from  out  thy  breast 

A  remnant  of  our  Spartan  dead ! 
Of  the  three  hundred  grant  but  three, 
To  make  a  new  Thermopylae  ! 

What,  silent  still  ?  and  silent  all } 
Ah  !  no  ;  —  the  voices  of  the  dead 

Sound  like  a  distant  torrent's  fall, 
And  answer,  "  Let  one  living  head, 

^ut  one  arise,  —  we  come,  we  come  !  " 

'Tis  but  the  livins:  who  are  dumb. 


124  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

In  vain  —  in  vain  ;  strike  other  chords  ; 

Fill  high  the  cup  with  Samian  wine ! 
Leave  battles  to  the  Turkish  hordes, 

And  shed  the  blood  of  Scio's  vine ! 
Hark!  rising  to  the  ignoble  call, 
How  answers  each  bold  Bacchanal ! 

You  have  the  Pyrrhic  dance  as  yet  — 
Where  is  the  Pyrrhic  phalanx  gone  ? 

Of  two  such  lessons,  why  forget 
The  nobler  and  the  manlier  one  ? 

You  have  the  letters  Cadmus  gave  — 

Think  ye  he  meant  them  for  a  slave  ? 

Fill  high  the  bowl  with  Samian  wine ! 

We  will  not  think  of  themes  like  these ! 
It  made  Anacreon's  song  divine : 

He  served  —  but  served  Polycrates  — 
A  tyrant ;  but  our  masters  then 
Were  still,  at  least,  our  countrymen. 

The  tyrant  of  the  Chersonese 

Was  freedom's  best  and  bravest  friend ; 
That  tyrant  was  Miltiades  ! 

Oh  !  that  the  present  hour  would  lend 
Another  despot  of  the  kind  ! 
Such  chains  as  his  were  sure  to  bind. 

Fill  high  the  bowl  with  Samian  wine ! 

On  Suli's  rock,  and  Parga's  shore, 
Exists  the  remnant  of  a  line 

Such  as  the  Doric  mothers  bore ; 
And  there,  perhaps,  some  seed  is  sown, 
The  Heraclcidan  blood  might  own. 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     125 

Trust  not  for  freedom  to  the  Franks  — 
They  have  a  king  who  buys  and  sells : 

In  native  swords,  and  native  ranks, 
The  only  hope  of  courage  dwells ; 

But  Turkish  force  and  Latin  fraud 

Would  break  your  shield,  however  broad. 

Fill  high  the  bowl  with  Samian  wine ! 

Our  virgins  dance  beneath  the  shade  — 
I  see  their  glorious  black  eyes  shine ; 

But  gazing  on  each  glowing  maid, 
My  own  the  burning  tear-drop  laves, 
To  think  such  breasts  must  suckle  slaves. 

Place  me  on  Sunium's  marbled  steep, 
Where  nothing,  save  the  waves  and  I, 

May  hear  our  mutual  murmurs  sweep ; 
There,  swan-like,  let  me  sing  and  die. 

A  land  of  slaves  shall  ne'er  be  mine — ■ 

Dash  down  yon  cup  of  Samian  wine ! 

—  Lord  Byron. 


NOTES. 


No.  I.  The  Battle  of  Agincourt.  The  battle  of  Agincourt  was 
fought  on  the  25th  of  October  (St.  Crispin's  Day),  141 5,  between  a  small 
army  of  English,  under  Henry  V.,  and  a  much  larger  French  force,  led  by 
the  Dauphin.  The  skill  and  prowess  of  the  English  bowmen  won  the  day, 
and  more  than  ten  thousand  French  knights  and  soldiers  were  left  dead 
on  the  field.  The  best  account  of  the  battle  is  that  contained  in  Shake- 
speare's epic  drama,  Henry  (he  Fifth;  but  there  is  a  military  and  patriotic 
spirit  in  this  martial  lyric  by  Drayton  which  is  seldom  found  in  any  of  our 
later  battle-songs.  This  poem  was  published  in  1627.  It  is  plainly  imi- 
tated by  Thomas  Heywood  in  the  following  little  song,  included  in  his 
drama  oi King  Edward  IV.,  written  very  soon  afterward:  — 


126  CHOICE  EXGLISH  LYRICS. 

"  Agincourt,  Agincouit !     Know  ye  not  Agincourt  ? 
Where  the  Englisli  slew  and  hurt 

All  the  French  foemen  ? 
With  our  guns  and  bills  brown, 
Oh,  the  French  were  beaten  down, 

Morris  pikes  and  bowmen  1  " 

1.  41.  Poitiers  and  Cressy.  The  battle  of  Poitiers  was  fought  Sep- 
tember 19,  1356,  and  that  of  C'recy  August  26,  1346.  The  English  were  led 
in  both  battles  by  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  and  in  both  were  victorious. 

No.  2.  The  Chargk  ok  the  Light  Brigade  ai"  Balaklava.  This 
poem  was  written,  as  its  author  tells  us,  "  after  reading  the  first  report  of 
the  Times  correspondent,  where  only  607  sal>res  are  mentioned  as  having 
taken  part  in  the  charge."  It  was  first  published  in  the  Eondon  Exam- 
iner, December  9,  1854.  The  charge  upon  the  Russian  cavalry  which  the 
lines  commemorate  was  the  result  of  a  misconceived  order  by  Lord  Rag- 
lan, and  occurred  October  25,  1854.  Of  the  607  British  horsemen  who 
rode  into  the  "  valley  of  Death,"  only  198  returned. 

The  resemblance  in  versification  between  this  poem  and  Drayton's 
ballad  of  Agincourt  will  be  observed  at  once. 

No.  3.  The  Coming  of  Charlemagne.  This  poem  is  founded  on  a 
passage  in  the  chronicle  entitled  Des  Gesles  de  Charlemagne,  written  by  a 
monk  of  St.  Gaul  about  the  end  of  the  ninth  century.  King  Didier  of 
Pavia  had  asked  Oggier  to  show  him  some  sign  of  the  coming  of  Charle- 
magne into  Lombardy.  "  Then  they  saw  Carl  himself,  the  Iron  King, 
crested  with  an  iron  helmet,  his  arms  protected  with  iron  bracelets,  an 
iron  hauberk  sheltering  his  iron  chest  and  his  huge  shoulders,  in  his  left 
hand  a  lance  of  iron  lifted  upright.  .  .  .  Iron  filled  the  fields  and  the 
streets;  the  sun's  rays  fell  upon  naught  but  iron;  so  that  the  people  of 
Pavia,  more  glace  by  terror  than  by  the  iron  itself,  fell  down  before  the 
glaci'  iron.  'O  iron  I  Alas,  iron  I  '  such  \mis  the  confused  clamor  which 
filled  the  city.  Oggier  saw  all  these  things  at  a  glance,  and  saiil  to  Didier, 
'  Behold  that  which  thi)U  hast  so  mucli  wished  to  see  I  '  " 

No.  4.  The  Batfle  ok  Bannockburn.  The  battle  of  Bannockburn, 
in  Stirling,  Scotland,  was  fought  June  24,  13 14.  The  English  army,  led 
by  Edward  II.,  was  totally  defeated  hy  the  .Scots  under  Robert  Bruce,  and 
Scotland  regained  its  freedom. 

"  Departed  spirits  of  ihc  mighty  ilead  ! 
Oh  I  once  again  to  Freedom's  cause  rrlurn 
The  patriot  Tell,  the  Bruce  of  Bannockburn." 

—  Campbell,  I'leasui  cs  oj  IIcpc, 


SOA'GS   OF  nATTLE,   BRAVERY,   AND  PATRIOTISM.     127 

In  another  version  of  this  song,  "to  the  tunc  of  I/fv,  Tiittie  Tailie," 
the  fourth  line  of  each  stanza  is  shortened  to  five  syllables,  as  follows :  — 

(i)  Or  to  victory! 

(2)  Chains  and  slavery ! 

(3)  Let  him  turn  and  flee! 

(4)  Let  him  follow  me  ! 

(5)  But  they  shall  be  free  I 
(6j  Let  us  do  or  die ! 

No.  5.  Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu.  The  Gathering  Song  of  Donuil 
Dhu,  or  Donald  the  Black,  is  founded  on  a  very  ancient  pibroch  belong- 
ing to  Clan  McDonald.  "  It  is  supposed,"  says  Sir  Walter  Scott,  "  to 
refer  to  the  expedition  of  Donald  Balloch,  who,  in  143 1,  launched  from 
the  Isles  with  a  considerable  force,  invaded  Lochaber,  and  at  Inverlochy 
defeated  and  put  to  flight  the  Earls  of  Mar  and  Caithness,  though  at  the 
head  of  an  army  superior  to  his  own."  This  song  was  published  in  1816, 
in  the  romance  of  Guy  Alamieriiig. 

pibroch.  The  pipe-summons  peculiar  to  any  clan.  "  The  connoisseurs 
in  pipe- music  aflect  to  discover  in  a  well-composed  pibroch  the  imitative 
sounds  of  march,  conllict,  flight,  pursuit,  and  all  the  '  current  of  a  heady 
fight.'  " 

No.  6.  KiLLiECRANKiE.  John  Graeme  of  Claverhouse,  whose  title  of 
Viscount  Dundee  had  been  given  him  in  reward  for  his  cruelties  to  the 
Western  Covenanters,  was  the  instigator  and  leader  of  a  revolt  of  the 
Highland  clans  against  the  government  of  William  III.  in  Scotland. 
General  Mackay,  with  his  loyal  Scotch  regiments,  was  sent  out  to  suppress 
the  uprising.  But  as  they  climbed  the  pass  of  Killiecrankie,  on  the  27th 
of  July,  1689,  Dundee  charged  them  at  the  head  of  three  thousand  clans- 
men, and  swept  them  in  headlong  rout  down  the  glen.  His  death  in  the 
moment  of  victory  broke,  however,  the  only  bond  which  held  the  High- 
landers together,  and  in  a  few  weeks  the  host  which  lidd  spread  terror 
through  the  Lowlands  melted  helplessly  away. 

The  Graemes,  or  Grahams,  were  among  the  most  noted  of  Scottish 
families,  and  included  among  them  some  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of 
the  country.  Among  them  were  Sir  John  the  Graeme,  the  faithful  aid 
of  Sir  William  Wallace,  who  fell  in  the  battle  of  Falkirk,  1298,  and  the 
celebrated  Marquis  of  Montrose,  who  died  in  1650,  and  whose  exploits 
are  immortalized  in  Scott's  Legend  of  Alontrose. 

No.  7.  Lament  for  Flodden.  The  battle  of  Flodden  Field  was 
fought  September  9,  15 13,  between  the  English,  under  the  Earl  of  Surrey, 
and  the  Scotch,  led  by  King  James  the  P'ourth:     The  latter  were  defeated 


128  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

with  great  loss,  and  the  king  himself  was  slain.  See  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
description  of  the  battle  in  the  last  canto  of  Martnion. 

This  poem  was  for  a  long  time  supposed  to  be  an  ancient  ballad,  and  it 
has  in  fact  some  portions  of  a  much  older  song  worked  into  it.  Its  origi- 
nal title  was  77/1?  Flo~cvers  of  the  Forest. 

1.  I.    lilting.     Singing  merrily. 

1.  3.    ilka.     Every,     loaning.     Broad  lane. 

1.  4.    wede.     Gone,  departed. 

1.  5.    scorning.     Rallying. 

1.  6.   dowie  and  wae.     Dreary  and  sad. 

1.  8.   leglin.     Milk-pail. 

1.  9.    shearing.     Reaping. 

1.  10.   bandsters.     Binders,     lyart.     Grizzled,     runkled.     Wrinkled. 

1.  II.   fleeching.     Coaxing. 

1.  14.   bogle.     Ghost. 

1.  17.   Dool  and  wae.     Sorrow  and  woe. 

No.  8.    Bonnie  George  Campbell.    This  little  Scottish  song  vividly  de- 
scribes an  incident  all  too  common  in  the  romantic  days  of  Border  warfare. 
1.  10.    Greeting.     Lamenting. 
1.  12.    Reaving.     Tearing,  rending. 

No.  9.  The  Battle  of  Ivry.  At  Ivry,  in  northwestern  France, 
Henry  IV.,  of  Navarre,  totally  defeated  the  army  of  the  League, 
March  14,  1590.     This  poem  was  written  in  1842. 

No.  10.  The  Armada.  A  fragment.  The  Invincible  Armada,  con- 
sisting of  one  hundred  and  thirty  ships  of  war,  and  carrying  over  twenty 
thousand  soldiers,  under  the  command  of  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia, 
was  sent  out  by  Philip  II.  for  the  conquest  of  England.  It  arrived  in  the 
English  Channel  July  19,  1588,  and  was  defeated  next  day  by  Drake  and 
Howard  with  a  far  inferior  fleet.  A  running  fight  continued  for  a  week, 
and  the  Armada  was  obliged  to  sail  around  Scotland  and  Ireland  in  order 
to  return  to  Spain.  The  English  lost  but  one  ship,  while  more  than  two- 
thirds  of  the  Armada  was  destroyed. 

1.7.   Aurigny's  isle.     The  island  of  Aldemey. 

1.  21.    Lion  of  the  sea.    England  as  represented  in  the  royal  colors. 

1.  23.    Picard  field.     Crecy,  in  Picardy. 

1.  30.    semper  eadem.     Always  the  same. 

No.  II.  Ye  Mariners  of  England.  Written  at  Altona,  in  1800. 
Its  original  title  was  "  Alteration  of  the  Old  Ballad,  Ye  Gentlemen  of 
England,  composed  on  the  prospect  of  a  Russian  War." 


SONGS  OF  BATTLE,  BRAVERY,  AND  PATRIOTISM.     129 

1.  3.  a  thousand  years.  A  good  example  of  hyperbole.  Although  a 
small  armed  fleet  was  organized  by  King  Alfred  as  early  as  890,  the  Eng- 
lish navy  had  no  real  existence  until  the  reign  of  Henry  VII.,  when  the 
first  war-ship,  "  The  Great  Harry,"  was  launched.  The  "  thousand  years  " 
of  the  poet,  if  reduced  to  a  mere  matter  of  fact,  would,  therefore,  become 
three  hundred  years. 

1.  15.  Admiral  Blake  did  not  fall  in  battle,  as  would  be  inferred  from 
this  line.  He  died  peacefully  on  shipboard  as  he  was  entering  Plymouth 
Harbor,  1657.  If  the  poem  was  written  in  1800,  this  line  must  have  been 
altered  later,  as  Admiral  Nelson's  death  in  the  battle  of  Trafalgar  did  not 
occur  until  October  21,  1805. 

No.  12.  The  Battle  of  Naseby.  The  battle  of  Naseby,  between 
the  Parliamentary  forces,  under  Cromwell  and  Fairfax,  and  the  Royalist 
army,  under  King  Charles  I.,  occurred  June  14,  1645.  The  Royalists  were 
defeated  with  great  loss.  The  poem  purports  to  have  been  written  by  a 
Puritan  officer  in  the  Parliamentary  army. 

1.  II.  Man  of  blood.  Charles  I.,  so  called  by  the  Puritans  because 
he  made  war  on  his  parliament.  See  2  Samuel,  xvi.  7.  Astley.  Lord 
Jacob  Astley,  who  commanded  the  infantry.  Sir  Marmaduke.  Sir  Mar- 
maduke  Langdale,  the  leader  of  the  left  wing  of  the  King's  army.  Sir 
Rupert.  Prince  Rupert,  third  son  of  Frederick  V.,  Elector  Palatine,  and 
Elizabeth,  daughter  of  James  I.  During  the  war  against  Parliament  he 
had  command  of  the  Royalist  cavalry. 

1.  14.  The  General.  Lord  Fairfax,  the  commander  of  the  "  New 
Model  Army." 

1.  57.  She  of  the  seven  hills.  Rome  —  but  particularly  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  with  which  King  Charles  was  accused  of  being  in  league. 

No.  13.  The  Battle  of  the  Baltic.  The  battle  here  referred  to  is 
known  in  history  as  the  battle  of  Copenhagen,  and  was  fought  off  Copen- 
hagen, April  2,  1 801.  The  action  was  between  a  fleet  of  British  war-ships, 
under  Lord  Nelson,  and  a  Danish  force  of  nineteen  vessels,  protected  by 
both  floating  and  land  batteries.  The  result  of  the  battle  was  the  breaking 
up  of  the  northern  coalition  against  England,  which  had  been  one  of 
Napoleon's  most  cherished  schemes. 

The  poem  was  written  in  1809.     The  first  stanza  originally  read  :  — 

"  Of  Nelson  and  the  North 
Sing  the  day, 
When,  their  haughty  powers  to  vex, 
He  engaged  the  Danish  decks, 
And  with  twenty  floating  wrecks 
Crowned  the  fray." 
I 


130  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

1.  54.  Elsinore.  Shakespeare,  in  Hamlet,  makes  Elsinore  ihc  capital 
of  Denmark.      1  he  name  is  here  used  for  Copenhagen. 

1.  58.  Riou.  Captain  Riou  was  killed  while  directing  a  lierce  attack 
upon  the  Crown  batteries.  The  title  of  "the  gallant  and  good"  was 
bestowed  upon  him  by  Nelson  in  his  despatches. 

No.  14.  HOHENLINDEN.  The  battle  of  Hohenlinden  was  fought 
December  3,  1800,  between  the  Austrians  under  Archduke  John  and  the 
French  and  Bavarians,  commanded  by  General  Moreau.  The  former 
were  defeated. 

This  poem  was  written  soon  after  the  battle,  and  was  published  in 
1802. 

No.   15.    The  Battle.     From  Irish  Melodies,  written  about  1S20. 

No.  16.  The  End  of  the  Siege.  Part  of  a  longer  poem,  entitled 
The  Rhy?ne  of  (he  Duchess  May.,  published  in  1844. 

No.  17.  The  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore.  The  battle  of  Corunna, 
Spain,  between  the  English  and  French,  was  fought  January  16,  1809. 
The  English  army,  which  was  on  a  retreat  from  Madrid,  gainetl  a  decided 
victory,  and  the  embarkation  of  the  troops  was  safely  effected.  The  com- 
mander. Sir  John  Moore,  was  killed  in  the  action,  however,  and  his  men 
buried  him  secretly  while  the  embarkation  was  going  on. 

No.  19.  The  War-Song  of  Dinas  Vawr.  From  a  romance  enti- 
tled The  Misfortunes  of  Elphin,  published  in  1829. 

No.  20.  The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib.  See  2  Kings,  xix.  35. 
Sennacherib  is  called  King  Moussal  by  the  Orientals.  This  poem  is  one 
of  the  series  of  Ilehre-.v  Melodies  which  Lord  Byron  published  in  1 81 5. 
The  series  was  written  at  the  request  of  a  friend  for  a  selection  of  Hebrew 
melodies  arranged  by  Braham  and  Nathan,  and  includes  twenty-two  pieces. 

No.  25.  "  I  travelled  among  Unknown  Men."  This  poem  was 
written  in  Germany,  in  1799,  and  was  published  in  1807. 

Stanza  4.  "  A  friend,  a  true  poet  himself,  to  whom  I  owe  some 
new  insight  into  the  merits  of  Mr.  Wordsworth's  poetry,  and  who  showed 
me,  to  my  surprise,  that  there  were  nooks  in  that  rich  and  varied  region 
some  of  the  shy  treasures  of  which  I  was  not  perfectly  acquainted  with, 
first  made  me  feel  the  great  beauty  of  this  stanza;  in  which  the  poet,  as 
it  were,  spreads  day  and  night  over  the  object  of  his  affections,  and  seems, 
under  the  influence  of  his  passionate  feeling,  to  think  of  England,  whether 
in  light  or  darkness,  only  as  her  play-place  and  verdant  home."  —  Sara 
Coleridge. 


SOJVGS  OF  BATTLE,   BRAVERY,   AND  PATRIOTISM.     131 

No.  26.  The  Isles  of  Greece.  A  song  from  Don  Juan,  canto  Hi., 
supposed  to  have  been  sung  by  a  minstrel  in  the  suite  of  the  hero  of  that 
poem. 

1.  7.  The  Scian  and  the  Teian  muse.  The  epic  and  the  lyric 
poets  as  represented  by  Homer  and  Anacreon. 

1.  12.  "  Islands  of  the  Blest."  Described  by  Homer  as  lying  far 
in  the  western  seas,  where  men 

"  Lead  easiest  lives.     No  snow,  no  bitter  cold, 
No  beating  rains  are  there;  the  ocean-deeps 
With  murmuring  breezes  from  the  west  refresh 
The  dwellers."  —  Odyssey,  iv.,  562. 

1.  17.  Persians'  grave.  Marathon,  where  the  Persians  were  defeated 
by  the  Greeks,  n.c.  490. 

1.  19.    A  king.     Xerxes,  before  the  battle  of  Salamis,  B.C.  480. 

1.  35.  Thermopyl£e.  The  famous  defence  of  Thermopylae  by  three 
hundred  Spartans  under  Leonidas,  in  the  summer  of  480  B.C.,  is  referred  to. 

!•  55-  Pyrrhic  dance.  An  ancient  war-dance,  named  after  Pyrrhicus, 
its  inventor. 

1.  67.  Chersonese.  The  Chersonesus,  a  narrow  strip  of  land  between 
the  Hellespont  and  the  Gulf  of  Melas,  was  colonized  by  a  body  of  Athe- 
nians under  the  elder  Mithridates,  about  108  B.C. 

1.  74.    Suli  and  Parga.     Towns  in  Epirus. 

1.  78.   Heracleidan  blood.     The  race  of  Heracles,  or  of  the  heroes. 

1.  91.  Sunium's  marbled  steep.  The  promontory  of  Sunium  forms 
the  southern  extremity  of  Attica.  It  is  crowned  by  the  ruins  of  a  mag- 
nificent marble  temple  to  Athena. 


Ballabe. 


' '  /  knew  a  very  wise  man  of  Sir  Christopher  Mus^rave's  senti- 
ment. He  believed,  if  a  man  were  permitted  to  make  all  the  ballads, 
he  need  not  care  who  should  make  the  laws?'' 

—  Andrew  Fletcher  (1703). 

"  Ballads  are  the  resource  which  in  peace  amuses  leisure,  and  in 
war  stimulates  courage:^  _  ^^^^^  thomas  Buckle. 


ROBIN   HOOD'S   DEATH   AND   BURIAL. 

When  Robin  Hood  and  Little  John 
Went  o'er  yon  bank  of  broom, 

Said  Robin  Hood  to  Little  John, 
We  have  shot  for  many  a  pound : 

But  I  am  not  able  to  shoot  one  shot  more, 

My  arrows  will  not  fiee ; 
But  I  have  a  cousin  lives  down  below. 

Please  God,  she  will  bleed  me. 

Now  Robin  is  to  fair  Kirkley  gone, 

As  fast  as  he  can  win ; 
But  before  he  came  there,  as  we  do  hear, 

He  was  taken  very  ill. 
132 


BALLADS.  133 

And  when  that  he  came  to  fair  Kirkley-hall, 

He  knock'd  all  at  the  ring, 
But  none  was  so  ready  as  his  cousin  herself 

For  to  let  bold  Robin  in. 

"Will  you  please  to  sit  down,   Cousin  Robin," 
she  said, 

"  And  drink  some  beer  with  me  ?  " 
"  No,  I  will  neither  eat  nor  drink, 

Till  I  am  blooded  by  thee." 

"Well,  I  have  a  room.  Cousin  Robin,"  she  said, 

"  Which  you  did  never  see. 
And  if  you  please  to  walk  therein, 

You  blooded  by  me  shall  be." 

She  took  him  by  the  lily-white  hand, 

And  led  him  to  a  private  room. 
And  there  she  blooded  bold  Robin  Hood, 

Whilst  one  drop  of  blood  would  run. 

She  blooded  him  in  the  vein  of  the  arm. 

And  locked  him  up  in  the  room  ; 
There  did  he  bleed  all  the  live-long  day. 

Until  the  next  day  at  noon. 

He  then  bethought  him  of  a  casement  door. 

Thinking  for  to  be  gone. 
He  was  so  weak  he  could  not  leap. 

Nor  he  could  not  get  down. 

He  then  bethought  him  of  his  bugle-horn, 
Which  hung  low  down  to  his  knee, 

He  set  his  horn  unto  his  mouth. 
And  blew  out  weak  blasts  three. 


134  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Then  Little  John,  when  hearing  him, 

As  he  sat  under  the  tree, 
"  I  fear  my  master  is  near  dead, 

He  blows  so  wearily." 

Then  Little  John  to  fair  Kirkley  is  gone, 

As  fast  as  he  can  dree  ; 
But  when  he  came  to  Kirkley-hall, 

He  broke  locks  two  or  three  : 

Until  he  came  bold  Robin  to. 

Then  he  fell  on  his  knee ; 
"  A  boon,  a  boon,"  cries  Little  John, 

"  Master,  I  beg  of  thee." 

"  What  is  that  boon,"  quoth  Robin  Hood, 
"  Little  John  thou  begs  of  me  .■'  " 

"  It  is  to  burn  fair  Kirkley-hall, 
And  all  thy  nunnery." 

"  Now  nay,  now  nay,"  quoth  Robin  Hood, 
"  That  boon  I'll  not  grant  thee  ; 

I  never  hurt  woman  in  all  my  life, 
Nor  man  in  woman's  company. 

"  I  never  hurt  fair  maid  in  all  my  time, 

Nor  at  my  end  shall  it  be  : 
But  give  me  my  bent  bow  in  my  hand. 

And  a  broad  arrow  I'll  let  flee  ; 
And  where  this  arrow  is  taken  up, 

There  shall  my  grave  digg'd  be. 


BALLADS.  135 

"  Lay  me  a  green  sod  under  my  head, 

And  another  at  my  feet ; 
And  lay  my  bent  bow  by  my  side, 

Which  was  my  music  sweet ; 
And  make  my  grave  of  gravel  and  green, 

Which  is  most  right  and  meet. 

"  Let  me  have  length  and  breadth  enough, 
With  a  green  sod  under  my  head  ; 

That  they  may  say,  when  I  am  dead. 
Here  lies  bold  Robin  Hood." 

These  words  they  readily  promis'd  him. 

Which  did  bold  Robin  please  : 
And  there  they  buried  bold  Robin  Hood, 

Near  to  the  fair  Kirklcys. 


THE  WIFE  OF  USHER'S  WELL. 

There  lived  a  wife  at  Usher's  Well, 
And  a  wealthy  wife  was  she  ; 

She  had  three  sons  and  stalwart  sons, 
And  sent  them  o'er  the  sea. 

They  hadna  been  a  week  from  her, 

A  week  but  barely  ane. 
When  word  came  to  the  carline  wife, 

That  her  three  sons  were  sane. 


136  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

They  hadna  been  a  week  from  her, 
A  week  but  barely  three, 

When  word  came  to  the  carline  wife, 
That  her  sons  she'd  never  see. 

"  I  wish  the  wind  may  never  cease. 

Nor  fish  be  in  the  flood, 
Till  my  three  sons  come  home  to  me, 

In  earthly  flesh  and  blood  !  " 

It  fell  about  the  Martinmas, 

When  nights  are  lang  and  mirk. 

The  carHne  wife's  three  sons  came  home, 
And  their  hats  were  o'  the  birk. 

It  neither  grew  in  dyke  nor  ditch, 

Nor  yet  in  any  sheugh ; 
But  at  the  gates  o'  Paradise, 

That  birk  grew  fair  eneugh. 


"  Blow  up  the  fire,  my  maidens ! 

Bring  water  from  the  well  ! 
For  a'  my  house  shall  feast  this  night, 

Since  my  three  sons'  are  well." 

And  she  has  made  to  them  a  bed. 
She's  made  it  large  and  wide  ; 

And  she's  ta'en  her  mantle  her  about. 
Sate  down  at  the  bedside. 


BALLADS.  137 

Up  then  crew  the  red,  red  cock, 

And  up  and  crew  the  gray ; 
The  eldest  to  the  youngest  said, 

*' '  Tis  time  we  were  away." 

The  cock  he  hadna  crawed  but  once, 

And  clapped  his  wings  at  a'. 
When  the  youngest  to  the  oldest  said, 

"  Brother,  we  must  awa. 

"  The  cock  doth  craw,  the  day  doth  daw 
The  channerin'  worm  doth  chide  ; 

'Gin  we  be  mist  out  o'  our  place 
A  sair  pain  we  maun  bide. 

"  Fare  ye  well,  my  mother  dear ! 

Farewell  to  barn  and  byre  ! 
And  fare  ye  well,  the  bonny  lass. 

That  kindles  my  mother's  fire  !  " 


KING   JOHN   AND   THE   ABBOT. 

An  ancient  story  He  tell  you  anon 
Of  a  notable  prince,  that  was  called  King  John ; 
And  he  ruled  England  with  maine  and  with  might, 
For  he  did  great  wrong,  and  maintein'd  little  right. 

And  He  tell  you  a  story,  a  story  so  merrye, 
Concerning  the  Abbot  of  Canterburye ; 
How  for  his  house-keeping,  and  high  renowne, 
They  rode  poste  for  him  to  fair  London  towne. 


138  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

An  hundred  men,  the  king  did  heare  say, 
The  abbot  kept  in  his  house  every  day ; 
And  fifty  golde  chaynes,  without  any  doubt, 
In  velvet  coates  waited  the  abbot  about.  • 

How  now,  father  abbot,  I  heare  it  of  thee, 
Thou  keepest  a  farre  better  house  than  mee. 
And  for  thy  house-keeping  and  high  renowne, 
I  feare  thou  work'st  treason  against  my  crown. 

My  liege,  quo'  the  abbot,  I  would  it  were  knowne, 
I  never  spend  nothing  but  what  is  my  owne ; 
And  I  trust  your  grace  will  doe  me  no  deere 
For  spending  of  my  owne  true-gotten  geere. 

Yes,  yes,  father  abbot,  thy  fault  is  highe. 
And  now  for  the  same  thou  needest  must  dye ; 
For  except  thou  canst  answer  me  questions  three. 
Thy  head  shall  be  smitten  from  thy  bodie. 

And  first,  quo'  the  king,  when  I'm  in  this  stead. 
With  my  crowne  of  golde  so  faire  on, my  head. 
Among  all  my  liege-men,  so  noble  of  birthe. 
Thou  must  tell  me  to  one  penny  what  I  am  worthe. 

Secondlye,  tell  me,  without  any  doubt. 
How  soonc  I  may  ride  the  whole  world  about. 
And  at  the  third  question  thou  must  not  shrink, 
But  tell  me  here  truly  what  I  do  think. 

Oh,  these  are  hard  questions  for  my  shallow  witt. 
Nor  I  cannot  answer  your  grace  as  yet ; 
Bui  if  you  will  give  me  but  three  weekes  space, 
lie  do  my  endeavour  to  answer  your  grace. 


BALLADS.  139 

Now  three  days  space  to  thee  will  I  give, 
And  that  is  the  longest  time  thou  hast  to  live ; 
For  if  thou  dost  not  answer  my  questions  three, 
Thy  lands  and  thy  livings  are  forfeit  to  mee. 

Away  rode  the  abbot,  all  sad  at  that  word. 
And  he  rode  to  Cambridge  and  Oxenford ; 
But  never  a  doctor  there  was  so  wise, 
That  could  with  his  learning  an  answer  devise. 

Then  home  rode  the  abbot,  of  comfort  so  cold, 
And  he  mett  his  shepheard  agoing  to  fold : 
How  now,  my  lord  abbot,  you  are  welcome  home. 
What  newes  do  you  bring  us  from  good  King  John  ? 

Sad  newes,  sad  newes,  shepheard,  I  must  give : 
That  I  have  but  three  days  more  to  live ; 
For  if  I  do  not  answer  him  questions  three, 
My  head  will  be  smitten  from  my  bodie. 

The  first  is  to  tell  him  there  in  that  stead. 
With  his  crowne  of  golde  so  fair  on  his  head. 
Among  all  his  liege-men  so  noble  of  birth. 
To  within  one  penny  of  what  he  is  worth. 

The  seconde,  to  tell  him,  without  any  doubt, 
How  soone  he  may  ride  this  whole  world  about : 
And  at  the  third  question  I  must  not  shrinke, 
But  tell  him  there  truly  what  he  does  thinke. 

Now  cheare  up,  sire  abbot,  did  you  never  hear  yet. 
That  a  fool  he  may  learne  a  wise  man  witt  ? 
Lend  me  horse,  and  serving-men,  and  your  apparel, 
And  I'll  ride  to  London  to  answere  your  quarrel. 


140  CHOICE  ENGLISH  lYRICS. 

Nay  frowne  not,  if  it  hath  bin  told  unto  mee, 

I  am  like  your  lordship,  as  ever  may  bee : 

And  if  you  will  but  lend  me  your  gowne, 

There  is  none  shall  knowe  us  in  fair  London  towne. 

Now  horses  and  serving-men  thou  shalt  have, 
With  sumptuous  array  most  gallant  and  brave ; 
With  crozier,  and  mitre,  and  rochet,  and  cope, 
Fit  to  appeare  'fore  our  fader  the  pope. 

Now  welcome,  sire  abbot,  the  king  he  did  say, 
'Tis  well  thou'rt  come  back  to  keepe  thy  day ; 
For  and  if  thou  canst  answer  my  questions  three. 
Thy  life  and  thy  living  both  saved  shall  bee. 

And  first,  when  thou  seest  me  here  in  this  stead, 
With  my  crown  of  golde  so  fair  on  my  head. 
Among  all  my  liege-men  so  noble  of  birthe, 
Tell  me  to  one  penny  what  I  am  worth. 

For  thirty  pence  our  Saviour  was  sold 

Among  the  false  Jewes,  as  I  have  bin  told : 

And  twenty-nine  is  the  worth  of  thee. 

For  I  thinke,  thou  art  one  penny  worser  than  hee. 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  St.  Bittel, 
I  did  not  think  I  had  been  worth  so  littel ! 
—  Now  secondly  tell  me,  without  any  doubt, 
How  soone  I  may  ride  this  whole  world  about. 

You  must  rise  with  the  sun,  and  ride  with  the  same. 
Until  the  next  morning  he  riseth  againe ; 
And  then  your  grace  need  not  make  any  doubt 
But  in  twenty-four  hours  you'll  ride  it  about. 


BALLADS.  141 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  St.  Jone, 

I  did  not  think  it  coiikl  be  gone  so  soone ! 

—  Now  from  the  third  question  thou  must  not  shrinke, 

But  tell  me  here  truly  what  I  do  thinke. 

Yea,  that  shall  I  do,  and  make  your  grace  merry : 
You  thinke  I'm  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury  ; 
But  I'm  his  poor  shepheard,  as  plain  you  may  see, 
That  am  come  to  beg  pardon  for  him  and  for  mee. 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  the  masse, 
He  make  thee  lord  abbot  this  day  in  his  place ! 
Now  naye,  my  liege,  be  not  in  such  speede, 
For  alacke  I  can  neither  write,  ne  reade. 

Four  nobles  a  week,  then,  I  will  give  thee. 

For  this  merry  jest  thou  hast  showne  unto  mee  : 

And  tell  the  old  abbot,  when  thou  comcst  home, 

Thou  hast  brought  him  a  pardon  from  good  King  John. 


4- 
THE    DOUGLAS  TRAGEDY. 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  now,  Lord  Douglas,"  she  says, 
"  And  put  on  your  armour  so  bright ; 

Let  it  never  be  said,  that  a  daughter  of  thine 
Was  married  to  a  lord  under  night. 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  my  seven  bold  sons. 

And  put  on  your  armour  so  bright, 
And  take  better  care  of  your  youngest  sister, 

For  your  eldest's  awa  the  last  night." 


142  CHOICE    ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

He's  mounted  her  on  a  milk-white  steed, 

And  himself  on  a  dapple  grey, 
With  a  bugelct  horn  hung  down  by  his  side, 

And  lightly  they  rode  away. 

Lord  William  lookit  o'er  his  left  shoulder, 

To  see  what  he  could  see, 
And  there  he  spy'd  her  seven  brethren  bold, 

Come  riding  over  the  lee. 

"  Light  down,  light  down,  Lady  Marg'ret,"  he  said, 

"  And  hold  my  steed  in  your  hand, 
Until  that  against  your  seven  brothers  bold, 

And  your  father,  I  mak  a  stand." 

She  held  his  steed  in  her  milk-white  hand, 

And  never  shed  one  tear, 
Until  that  she  saw  her  seven  brethren  fa', 

And  her  father  hard  fighting,  who  loved  her  so  dear. 

"  O  hold  your  hand,  Lord  William !  "  she  said, 
"  For  your  strokes  they  are  wondrous  sair  ; 

True  lovers  I  can  get  many  a  ane. 
But  a  father  I  can  never  get  mair." 

O  she's  ta'en  out  her  handkerchief. 

It  was  o'  the  holland  sae  fine, 
And  aye  she  dighted  her  father's  bloody  wounds, 

That  were  redder  than  the  wine. 

"  O  chuse,  O  chusc.  Lady  Marg'ret,"  he  said, 

"  O  whether  will  ye  gang  or  bide  .-•" 
"  I'll  gang,  I'll  gang,  Lord  William,"  she  said, 

"  For  ye  have  left  me  no  other  guide." 


BALLADS.  143 

He's  lifted  her  on  a  milk-white  steed, 

And  himself  on  a  dapple  grey, 
With  a  bugelet  horn  hung  down  by  his  side, 

And  slowly  they  baith  rade  away. 

O  they  rade  on,  and  on  they  rade. 

And  a'  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
Until  they  came  to  yon  wan  water, 

And  there  they  lighted  down. 

They  lighted  down  to  tak  a  drink 

Of  the  spring  that  ran  sae  clear ; 
And  down  the  stream  ran  his  gude  heart's  blood. 

And  sair  she  gan  to  fear. 

"  Hold  up,  hold  up.  Lord  William,"  she  says, 

"  For  I  fear  that  you  are  slain  !  " 
"  'Tis  naething  but  the  shadow  of  my  scarlet  cloak, 

That  shines  in  the  water  sae  plain." 

O  they  rade  on,  and  on  they  rade, 

And  a'  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 
Until  they  cam'  to  his  mother's  ha'  door, 

And  there  they  lighted  down. 

"  Get  up,  get  up,  lady  mother,"  he  says, 

"  Get  up,  and  let  me  in  !  — 
Get  up,  get  up,  lady  mother,"  he  says, 

"  For  this  night  my  fair  ladye  I've  win. 

"  O  mak  my  bed,  lady  mother,"  he  says, 

"  O  mak  it  braid  and  deep  ! 
And  lay  Lady  Marg'ret  close  at  my  back, 

And  the  sounder  I  will  sleep." 


144  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Lord  William  was  dead  lang  ere  midnight, 

Lady  Marg'rct  lang  ere  day  — 
And  all  true  lovers  that  go  thegither, 

May  they  have  mair  luck  than  they ! 

Lord  William  was  buried  in  St.  Mary's  kirk, 
Lady  Margaret  in  Mary's  quire ; 

Out  o'  the  lady's  grave  grew  a  bonny  red  rose, 
And  out  o'  the  knight's  a  brier. 

And  they  twa  met,  and  they  twa  plat, 

And  fain  they  wad  be  near ; 
And  a'  the  warld  might  ken  right  weel, 

They  were  twa  lovers  dear. 

But  bye  and  rade  the  Black  Douglas, 

And  wow  but  he  was  rough  ! 
For  he  puU'd  up  the  bonny  brier. 

And  flang'd  in  St.  Mary's  loch. 


5- 
THE  TWA  CORBIES. 

As  I  was  walking  all  alane, 

I  heard  twa  corbies  making  a  mane; 

The  tane  unto  the  t'other  say, 

*'  Where  sail  we  gang  and  dine  to-day }  " 

"  In  behint  yon  auld  fail  dyke, 

I  wot  there  lies  a  new-slain  knight ; 

And  naebody  kens  that  he  lies  there,  fl 

But  his  hawk,  his  hound,  and  lady  fair.  1^ 


BALLADS.  145 

"  His  hound  is  to  the  hunting  gane, 
His  hawk  to  fetch  the  wild-fowl  hame, 
His  lady's  ta'en  another  mate, 
So  we  may  make  our  dinner  sweet. 

"*Ye'll  sit  on  his  white  hause  bane, 
And  I'll  pike  out  his  bonny  blue  een : 
Wi'  ae  lock  o'  his  gowden  hair. 
We'll  theek  our  nest  when  it  grows  bare. 

"  Mony  a  one  for  him  makes  mane, 
But  nane  sail  ken  whare  he  is  gane ; 
O'er  his  white  banes,  when  they  are  bare, 
The  wind  sail  blaw  for  evermair." 


EDWARD  OF  THE   BLOODY  BRAND. 

"  Why  does  your  brand  so  drop  with  blood  ? 

Edward !    Edward ! 
Why  does  your  brand  so  drop  with  blood, 
And  why  so  sad  go  ye,  O  ?  " 

"  O !  I  have  killed  my  hawk  so  good, 
Mother!   Mother! 
O !  I  have  killed  my  hawk  so  good. 
And  I  have  no  more  but  he,  O  !  " 

"  Your  hawk's  blood  was  never  so  red, 
Edward !   Edward ! 
Your  hawk's  blood  was  never  so  red, 
My  dear  son,  I  tell  thee,  O  !  " 

K 


146  CHOICE   ENGIJSII  L  YRICS. 

"  O  !   I  have  killed  my  red  roan  steed, 

Mother!  Mother! 

O  !  I  have  killed  my  red  roan  steed, 

That  once  was  fair  and  free,  O  !  " 

"  Your  steed  was  old  and  ye  have  got  more, 

Edward !    Edward  ! 
Your  steed  was  old  and  ye  have  got  more, 
Some  other  dule  you  drie,  O  !  " 

"  O  !  I  have  killed  my  father  dear. 

Mother!  Mother! 
O  !   I  have  killed  my  father  dear, 
Alas,  and  woe  is  me,  O  !  " 

"  And  what  penance  will  ye  drie  for  that  ? 

Edward !    Edward ! 
And  what  penance  will  ye  drie  for  that? 
My  dear  son,  now  tell  me,  O  !  " 

"  I'll  set  my  feet  in  yonder  boat, 

Mother!   Mother! 
I'll  set  my  feet  in  yonder  boat,  .    _ 

And  I'll  fare  over  the  sea,  O  !  " 

"  And  what  will  you  do  with  your  towers  and  your  hall? 

Edward  !    Edward  ! 
And  what  will  you  do  with  your  towers  and  your  hall, 
That  were  so  fair  to  see,  O  ?  " 

"  I'll  let  them  stand  till  they  down  fall, 

Mother!   Mother! 
I'll  let  them  stand  till  they  down  fall. 
For  here  never  more  must  I  be^  O ! " 


BALLADS.  147 

"  And  what  will  you  leave  to  your  bairns  and  your  wife  ? 

Edward !    Edward ! 
And  what  will  you  leave  to  your  bairns  and  your  wife, 
When  you  go  over  the  sea,  O  ?  " 

"  The  world's  room,  let  them  beg  through  life, 

Mother!  Mother! 
The  world's  room,  let  them  beg  through  life. 
For  them  never  more  will  I  see,  O  !  " 

"And  what  will  you  leave  to  your  own  mother  dear? 

Edward !    Edward  ! 
And  what  will  you  leave  to  your  own  mother  dear  ? 
My  dear  son,  now  tell  me,  O  !  " 

"  The  curse  of  hell  from  me  shall  you  bear, 

Mother!  Mother! 
The  curse  of  hell  from  me  shall  you  bear, 
Such  counsels  you  gave  to  me,  O  !  " 

—  Sir  David  Dalrymple  {Lord  Hailes). 


7- 
BARBARA  ALLEN'S  CRUELTY. 

In  Scarlet  towne,  where  I  was  borne, 
There  was  a  faire  maid  dwellin, 

Made  every  youth  crye,  Wel-awaye  I 
Her  name  was  Barbara  Allen. 

All  in  the  merrye  month  of  May, 

When  greene  buds  they  were  swellin. 

Young  Jemmye  Grove  on  his  death-bed  lay. 
For  love  of  Barbara  Allen. 


148  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

He  sent  his  man  unto  her  then, 

To  the  towne  where  shee  was  dwellin 

You  must  come  to  my  master  deare, 
Giff  your  name  be  Barbara  Allen. 

For  death  is  printed  on  his  face, 
And  ore  his  hart  is  stealin  : 

Then  haste  away  to  comfort  him, 
O  lovelye  Barbara  Allen. 

Though  death  be  printed  on  his  face. 
And  ore  his  hart  is  stealin, 

Yet  little  better  shall  he  bee 
For  bonny  Barbara  Allen. 

So  slowly,  slowly,  she  came  up. 
And  slowly  she  came  nye  him ; 

And  all  she  sayd,  when  there  she  came, 
Yong  man,  I  think  y'are  dying. 

He  turned  his  face  unto  her  strait. 
With  deadlye  sorrow  sighing ; 

0  lovely  maid,  come  pity  mee, 
Ime  on  my  deth-bed  lying. 

If  on  your  death-bed  you  doe  lye, 
What  needs  the  tale  you  are  tcllin  ; 

1  cannot  keep  you  from  your  death ; 

Farewell,  sayd  Barbara  Allen. 

He  turned  his  face  unto  the  wall. 
As  deadlye  pangs  he  fell  in  : 

Adieu  !  adieu  !  adieu  to  you  all, 
Adieu  to  Barbara  Allen. 


BALLADS.  149 

As  she  was  walking  ore  the  fields, 

She  heard  the  bell  a  knellin  ; 
And  every  stroke  did  seem  to  saye, 

Unworthye  Barbara  Allen. 

She  turned  her  bodye  round  about, 

And  spied  the  corps  a  coming : 
Laye  down,  laye  down  the  corps,  she  sayd, 

That  I  may  look  upon  him. 

With  scornful  eye  she  looked  downe. 

Her  cheeke  with  laughter  swellin  : 
Whilst  all  her  friends  cryd  out  amaine ; 

Unworthye  Barbara  Allen. 

When  he  was  dead,  and  laid  in  grave, 
Her  harte  was  struck  with  sorrowe, 

O  mother,  mother,  make  my  bed. 
For  I  shall  dye  to-morrowe. 

Hard-harted  creature  him  to  slight, 

Who  loved  me  so  dearlye  : 
O  that  I  had  beene  more  kind  to  him. 

When  he  was  alive  and  neare  me ! 

She,  on  her  death-bed  as  she  laye, 

Beg'd  to  be  buried  by  him ; 
And  sore  repented  of  the  daye, 

That  she  did  ere  denye  him. 

Farewell,  she  sayd,  ye  virgins  all. 

And  shun  the  fault  I  fell  in  : 
Henceforth  take  warning  by  the  fall 

Of  cruel  Barbara  Allen. 


150  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

8. 

BURD    HELEN. 

I  WISH  I  were  where  Helen  lies ; 

Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries  ; 

Oh,  that  I  were  where  Helen  lies 

On  fair  Kirconnell  lea ! 

Curst  be  the  heart  that  thought  the  thought, 
And  curst  the  hand  that  fired  the  shot, 
When  in  my  arms  burd  Helen  dropt. 
And  died  to  succor  me  ! 

Oh,  think  na  but  my  heart  was  sair. 
When  my  Love  dropt  down  and  spak  nae  mair! 
I  laid  her  down  wi'  meikle  care 
On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

As  I  went  down  the  water-side. 
None  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide, 
None  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide. 
On  fair  Kirconnell  lea ; 

I  lighted  down  my  sword  to  draw, 
I  hacked  him  in  pieces  sma', 
I  hacked  him  in  pieces  sma',  • 

For  her  sake  that  died  for  me. 

O  Helen  fair,  beyond  compare ! 
ril  make  a  garland  of  thy  hair 
Shall  bind  my  heart  for  evermair 
Until  the  day  I  die. 


BALLADS.  151 

Oh,  that  I  were  where  Helen  lies ! 
Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries ; 
Out  of  my  bed  she  bids  me  rise, 

Says,  "  Haste  and  come  to  me ! " 

0  Helen  fair!  O  Helen  chaste! 
If  I  were  with  thee,  I  were  blest, 
Where  thou  lies  low  and  takes  thy  rest 

On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

1  wish  my  grave  were  growing  green, 
A  winding-sheet  drawn  o'er  my  een, 
And  I  in  Helen's  arms  lying. 

On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

I  wish  I  were  where  Helen  lies : 

Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries ; 

And  I  am  weary  of  the  skies. 

Since  my  Love  died  for  me. 

—  Anon. 


9- 

THE   TWA    SISTERS. 

There  were  twa  sisters  lived  in  a  bouir ; 

Binnoric,  O  Binnoric  ; 
The  youngest  o'  them,  oh,  she  was  a  flouir  I 

By  the  boiuiic  mil /-dams  d  Binnoric. 

There  came  a  squire  frae  the  west ; 

He  lo'ed  them  baith,  but  the  youngest  best ; 

He  gied  the  eldest  a  gay  gowd  ring ; 
But  he  lo'ed  the  youngest  abune  a'  thing. 


152  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

He  courted  the  eldest  wi'  broach  and  knife ; 
But  he  lo'ed  the  youngest  as  his  Hfe. 

The  eldest  she  was  vexed  sair, 
And  sore  envied  her  sister  fair. 

And  it  fell  once  upon  a  day, 

The  eldest  to  the  youngest  did  say : 

"  Oh,  sister,  come  to  the  sea-strand, 
And  see  our  father's  ships  come  to  land." 

She's  ta'en  her  by  the  milk-white  hand, 
And  led  her  down  to  the  sea-strand. 

The  youngest  sat  upon  a  stane  ; 
The  eldest  came  and  pushed  her  in. 

"  Oh,  sister,  sister,  lend  me  your  hand, 
And  you  shall  be  heir  of  half  my  land." 

"Oh,  sister,  I'll  not  reach  my  hand, 
And  I'll  be  heir  of  all  your  land. 

"  Shame  fa'  the  hand  that  I  should  take  ! 
It  twinned  me  and  my  world's  maik." 

"Oh,  sister,  reach  me  but  your  glove, 
And  you  shall  be  sweet  William's  love." 

"  Sink  on,  nor  hope  for  hand  or  glove. 
And  sweet  William  shall  better  be  my  love. 

"  Your  cherry  cheeks  and  yellow  hair 
Had  gar'd  me  gang  maiden  evcrmair." 

First  she  sank,  and  syne  she  swam, 
Until  she  cam  to  Tweed  mill-dam. 


BALLADS.  153 

The  miller's  dauchter  was  baking  breid, 
And  gaed  for  water  as  she  had  need. 

"  Oh,  father,  father,  in  our  mill-dam 

There's  either  a  mermaid  or  a  milk-white  swan." 

The  miller  quickly  drew  his  dam ; 
And  there  he  fand  a  drown'd  woman. 

You  couldna  see  her  yellow, hair, 

For  gowd  and  pearls  that  were  sae  rare. 

You  couldna  see  her  middle  sma', 
Her  gowden  girdle  was  sae  braw. 

You  couldna  see  her  lilie  feet, 
Her  gowden  fringes  were  sae  deep. 

You  couldna  see  her  fingers  sma', 

Wi'  diamond  rings  they  were  covered  a'. 

"  Sair  will  they  be,  whae'er  they  be, 
The  hearts  that  live  to  weep  for  thee !  " 

Then  by  there  cam  a  harper  fine. 
That  harped  to  the  king  at  dine : 

And,  when  he  looked  that  lady  on. 
He  sighed,  and  made  a  heavy  moan : 

He  has  ta'en  three  locks  o'  her  yellow  hair, 
And  wi'  them  strung  his  harp  sae  fair. 

And  he  brought  the  harp  to  her  father's  hall. 
And  there  the  court  was  assembled  all. 

He  laid  his  harp  upon  a  stone. 
And  straight  it  began  to  play  alone. 


154  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

"  O  yonder  sits  my  father,  the  king ! 
And  yonder  sits  my  mother,  the  queen ! 

"And  yonder  stands  my  brother  Hugh, 
And  by  him  my  William  sweet  and  true !  " 

But  the  last  tune  that  the  harp  played  then, 

Binnoric,  O  Binnorie, 

Was,  "Woe  to  my  sister,  false  Helen !" 

By  the  bonny  mill-dams  d  Binnorie. 

—  Anon. 


lO. 


THE   TWA    BROTHERS. 

There  were  twa  brothers  at  the  scule, 
And  when  they  got  awa'  — 

"  It's  will  ye  play  at  the  stane-chucking, 
Or  will  ye  play  at  the  ba', 

Or  will  ye  gae  up  to  yon  hill  head, 
And  there  we'll  warsell  a  fa' .''  " 

"  I  winna  play  at  the  stane-chucking. 

Nor  will  I  play  at  the  ba'. 
But  I'll  gae  up  to  yon  bonnie  green  hill, 

And  there  we'll  warsell  a  fa'." 

They  warsled  up,  they  warsled  down, 
Till  John  fell  to  the  ground  ; 

A  dirk  fell  out  of  Willie's  pouch, 
And  gave  him  a  deadly  wound. 


BALLADS.  155 

"  Oh,  Billie,  lift  me  on  your  back, 

Take  me  to  yon  well  fair, 
And  wash  the  bluid  frae  aff  my  wound, 

And  it  will  bleed  nae  mair." 

He's  lifted  his  brother  upon  his  back, 

Ta'en  him  to  yon  well  fair ; 
He's  washed  the  bluid  fra  aff  his  wound, 

But  ay  it  bled  mair  and  mair. 

"Tak  ye  aff  my  Holland  sark, 

And  rive  it  gair  by  gair. 
And  stap  it  in  my  bluidy  wound, 

And  syne  'twill  bleed  nae  mair." 

He's  taken  aff  his  Holland  sark, 

And  torn  it  gair  by  gair ; 
He's  stappit  it  in  his  bluidy  wound. 

But  aye  it  bled  mair  and  mair. 

"  Tak  now  aff  my  green  sleiding. 

And  row  me  saftly  in  : 
And  tak  me  up  to  yon  kirk  style. 

Where  the  grass  grows  fair  and  green." 

He's  taken  aff  the  green  sleiding. 

And  rowd  him  saftly  in  ; 
He's  laid  him  down  by  yon  kirk  style, 

Where  the  grass  grows  fair  and  green. 

"  What  will  ye  say  to  your  father  dear 

When  ye  gae  hame  at  e'en  .''  " 
"  I'll  say  ye're  lying  at  yon  kirk  style, 

Where  the  grass  grows  fair  and  green." 


156  CHOICE   EXGLISII  LYRICS. 

"  O  no,  O  no,  my  brother  dear, 

O  you  must  not  say  so : 
But  say  that  I'm  gane  to  a  foreign  land, 

Where  nae  man  does  me  know." 

When  he  sat  in  his  father's  chair 
He  grew  baith  pale  and  wan. 

"  O  what  blude's  that  upon  your  brow  ? 
O  dear  son,  tell  to  me." 

"  It  is  the  blude  o'  my  gude  grey  steed, 
He  wadna  ride  wi'  me." 

"  O  thy  steed's  blude  was  ne'er  sae  red, 

Nor  e'er  sae  dear  to  me  : 
O  what  blude's  this  upon  your  cheek .'' 

O  dear  son,  tell  to  me." 
"  It  is  the  blude  of  my  greyhound. 

He  wadna  hunt  for  me." 

"  O  thy  hound's  blude  was  ne'er  sae  red. 

Nor  e'er  sae  dear  to  me : 
O  what  blude's  this  upon  your  hand } 

O  dear  son,  tell  to  me." 
"  It  is  the  blude  of  my  gay  gosshawk, 

He  wadna  flee  for  me." 

"  O  thy  hawk's  blude  was  ne'er  sae  red, 

Nor  e'er  sae  dear  to  me  : 
O  what  blude's  this  upon  your  dirk  ? 

Dear  Willie,  tell  to  me." 
"  It  is  the  blude  of  my  ae  brother, 

O  dule  and  wae  is  me  !  " 


BALLADS.  157 

"  O  what  will  ye  say  to  your  father, 

Dear  Willie,  tell  to  me  ?  " 
"  I'll  saddle  my  steed,  and  awa'  I'll  ride 

To  dwell  in  some  far  countric." 

"  O  when  will  ye  come  hame  again, 

Dear  Willie,  tell  to  me?  " 
"  When  the  sun  and  the  mune  dance  on  yon  green, 

And  that  will  never  be." 

She  turned  hersel'  right  round  about, 

And  her  heart  burst  into  three : 
"  My  ae  best  son  is  deid  and  gane. 

And  my  'tother  ane  I'll  ne'er  see." 


II. 

LOCHINVAR. 

Oh,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west. 
Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  was  the  best, 
And  save  his  good  broad-sword  he  weapons  had  none; 
He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war. 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

He  stayed  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for  stone, 

He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was  none ; 

But,  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate. 

The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late : 

For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war. 

Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 


15S  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  hall, 

Among  bride's-men  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers  and  all : 

Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword 

(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word), 

"  Oh,  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war. 

Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar?  " 

"  I  long  wooed  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied ;  — 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide  — 
And  now  I  am  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine, 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far. 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochinvar." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet ;  the  knight  took  it  up, 
He  quaffed  of  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the  cup  ; 
She  looked  down  to  blush,  and  she  looked  up  to  sigh. 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 
He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could  bar, — 
"  Now  tread  we  a  measure !  "  said  young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  his  face, 
That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace ; 
While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did  fume. 
And   the    bridegroom   stood  dangling  his    bonnet   and 

plume ; 
And  the  bride-maidens   whispered,  "  'Twere  better  by 

far 
To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochinvar." 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 
When  they  reached  the  hall-door,  and  the  charger  stood 
near  ; 


BALLADS.  159 

So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ! 
"  She  is  won  !  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and  scaur ; 
They'll  have  fleet    steeds   that   follow, "    quoth   young 
Lochinvar. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Netherby 

clan ; 
Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and  they 

ran  : 
There  was  racing,  and  chasing,  on  Cannobie  Lee, 
But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see. 
So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar ! 

—  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


BLACK-EYED    SUSAN. 

All  in  the  Downs  the  fleet  was  moor'd, 
The  streamers  waving  in  the  wind. 

When  black-eyed  Susan  came  on  board, 
"  Oh,  where  shall  I  my  true-love  find } 

Tell  me,  ye  jovial  sailors,  tell  me  true. 

Does  my  sweet  William  sail  among  your  crew } 

William,  who  high  upon  the  yard 

Rock'd  by  the  billows  to  and  fro. 
Soon  as  the  well-known  voice  he  heard, 

He  sigh'd  and  cast  his  eyes  below ; 


160  CHOICE   EA'GLISII  LYRICS. 

The  cord  flies  swiftly  through  his  glowing  hands, 
And,  quick  as  lightning,  on  the  deck  he  stands. 

So  the  sweet  lark,  high  poised  in  air, 
Shuts  close  his  pinions  to  his  breast 

If  chance  his  mate's  shrill  call  he  hear, 
And  drops  at  once  into  her  nest :  — 

The  noblest  captain  in  the  British  fleet 

Might  envy  William's  lip  those  kisses  sweet. 

"  O  Susan,  Susan,  lovely  dear, 

My  vows  shall  ever  true  remain ; 
Let  me  kiss  off  that  falling  tear ; 

We  only  part  to  meet  again. 
Change  as  ye  list,  ye  winds :  my  heart  shall  be 
The  faithful  compass  that  still  points  to  thee. 

"  Believe  not  what  the  landsmen  say 

Who  tempt  with  doubts  thy  constant  mind ; 

They'll  tell  thee,  sailors,  when  away, 
In  every  port  a  mistress  find: 

Yes,  yes,  believe  them  when  they  tell  thee  so. 

For  thou  art  present  wheresoe'er  I  go." 

The  boatswain  gave  the  dreadful  word, 
The  sails  their  swelling  bosom  spread ; 

No  longer  must  she  stay  aboard ; 

They  kiss'd,  she  sigh'd,  he  hung  his  head. 

Her  lessening  boat  unwilling  rows  to  land; 

"Adieu!  "  she  cries;  and  waves  her  lily  hand. 

— John  Gay. 


BALLADS.  16J 

SALLY   IN    OUR   ALLEY. 

Of  all  the  girls  that  are  so  smart 

There's  none  like  pretty  Sally ; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 
There  is  no  lady  in  the  land 

Is  half  so  sweet  as  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

Her  father  he  makes  cabbage-nets, 

And  through  the  streets  does  cry  'em ; 
Her  mother  she  sells  laces  long 

To  such  as  please  to  buy  'em  ; 
But  sure  such  folks  could  ne'er  beget 

So  sweet  a  girl  as  Sally ! 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart. 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

When  she  is  by  I  leave  my  work, 

I  love  her  so  sincerely; 
My  master  comes  like  any  Turk, 

And  bangs  me  most  severely. 
But  let  him  bang  his  bellyful  — 

I'll  bear  it  all  for  Sally; 
For  she's  the  darling  of  my  heart. 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

Of  all  the  days  that's  in  the  week 

I  dearly  love  but  one  day, 
And  that's  the  day  that  comes  betwixt 

The  Saturday  and  Monday  ; 


162  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

For  then  I'm  drest  all  in  my  best 
To  walk  abroad  with  Sally  ; 

She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 
And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

My  master  carries  me  to  church, 

And  often  am  I  blamed 
Because  I  leave  him  in  the  lurch 

As  soon  as  text  is  named : 
I  leave  the  church  in  sermon-time, 

And  slink  away  to  Sally, — 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

When  Christmas  comes  about  again. 

Oh  then  I  shall  have  money ! 
I'll  hoard  it  up,  and  box  and  all, 

I'll  give  it  to  my  honey; 
Oh,  would  it  were  ten  thousand  pound ! 

I'd  give  it  all  to  Sally ; 
For  she's  the  darling  of  my  heart. 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

My  master  and  the  neighbors  all 

Make  game  of  me  and  Sally, 
And  but  for  her  I'd  better  be 

A  slave,  and  row  a  galley ; 
But  when  my  seven  long  years  are  out. 

Oh  then  I'll  marry  Sally! 
Oh  then  we'll  wcd/and  then  we'll  bed  — 

But  not  in  our  alley ! 

—  Harry  Carey. 


BALLADS.  163 

14. 

AULD   ROBIN  GRAY. 

When  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauld,  and  the  kye  at  hame, 
And  a'  the  warld  to  rest  are  gane, 
The  waes  o'  my  heart  fa'  in  showers  frae  my  e'e, 
While  my  gudeman  Hes  sound  by  me. 

Young  Jamie  lo'ed  me  weel,  and  sought  me  for  his  bride ; 
But  saving  a  croun  he  had  naething  else  beside  : 
To  make  the  croun  a  pund,  young  Jamie  gaed  to  sea; 
And  the  croun  and  the  pund  were  baith  for  me. 

He  hadna  been  awa'  a  week  but  only  twa, 

When  my  father  brak  his  arm,  and  the  cow  was  stown 

awa' ; 
My  mother  she  fell  sick,  and  my  Jamie  at  the  sea  — 
And  auld  Robin  Gray,  came  a-courtin'  me. 

My  father  couldna  work,  and  my  mother  couldna  spin ; 
I  toiled  day  and  night,  but  their  bread  I  couldna  win ; 
And  Rob  maintained  them  baith,  and  wi'  tears  in  his  e'e 
Said,  Jennie,  for  their  sakes,  oh  marry  me ! 

My  heart  it  said  nay ;  I  looked  for  Jamie  back; 
But  the  wind  it  blew  high,  and  the  ship  it  was  a  wrack ; 
His  ship  it  was  a  wrack —  why  didna  Jamie  dee? 
Or  why  do  I  live  to  cry,  Wae's  me .'' 

My  father  urgit  sair  :  my  mother  didna  speak  ; 

But  she  looked  in  my  face  till  my  heart  was  like  to 

break : 
They  gi'ed  him  my  hand,  but  my  heart  was  at  the  sea ; 
Sae  auld  Robin  Gray  he  was  gudeman  to  me. 


164  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

I  hadna  been  a  wife  a  week  but  only  four, 
When  mournfu'  as  I  sat  on  the  stane  at  the  door, 
I  saw  my  Jamie's  wraith,  for  I  couldna  think  it  he- 
Till  he  said,  I'm  come  hame  to  marry  thee. 

Oh  sair,  sair  did  we  greet,  and  muckle  did  we  say ; 
We  took  but  ae  kiss,  and  I  bad  him  gang  away : 
I  wish  that  I  were  dead,  but  I'm  no  like  to  dee ; 
And  why  was  I  born  to  say,  Wae's  me ! 

I  gang  like  a  ghaist,  and  I  carena  to  spin ; 
I  daurna  think  on  Jamie,  for  that  wad  be  a  sin ; 
But  I'll  do  my  best  a  gude  wife  aye  to  be. 
For  auld  Robin  Gray  he  is  kind  unto  me. 

—  Lady  Anne  Barnard. 


15- 
JEANIE   MORRISON. 

I've  wandered  east,  I've  wandered  west, 

Through  mony  a  weary  way ; 
But  never,  never  can  forget 

The  love  o'  life's  young  day ! 
The  fire  that's  blawn  on  Beltane  e'en 

May  weel  be  black  gin  Yule ; 
But  blacker  fa'  awaits  the  heart 

Where  first  fond  luve  grows  cule. 

Oh  dear,  dear  Jeanie  Morrison, 
The  thochts  o'  bygane  years 

Still  fling  their  shadows  ower  my  path, 
And  blind  my  een  wi'  tears ! 


BALLADS.  165 

They  blind  my  een  wi'  saut,  saut  tears, 

And  sair  and  sick  I  pine, 
As  memory  idly  summons  up 

The  blithe  blinks  o'  langsyne. 


'Twas  then  we  luvit  ilk  ither  weel, 

'Twas  than  we  twa  did  part ; 
Sweet  time,  sad  time !  twa  bairns  at  schule, 

Twa  bairns,  and  but  ae  heart ! 
'Twas  then  we  sat  on  ae  high  bink. 

To  leir  ilk  ither  lear : 
And  tones,  and  looks,  and  smiles  were  shed, 

Remembered  ever  mair. 


I  wonder,  Jeanie,  often  yet 

When  sitting  on  that  bink. 
Cheek  touchin'  cheek,  loof  locked  in  loof, 

What  our  wee  heads  could  think. 
When  baith  bent  doun  ower  ae  braid  page, 

Wi'  ae  bulk  on  our  knee. 
Thy  lips  were  on  thy  lesson,  but 

My  lesson  was  in  thee. 

Oh  mind  ye  how  we  hung  our  heads, 

How  cheeks  brent  red  wi'  shame. 
Whene'er  the  school-weans  laughin'  said, 

We  cleekcd  thegither  hame  ? 
And  mind  ye  o'  the  Saturdays 

(The  schule  then  skail't  at  noon) 
When  we  ran  aft  to  speel  the  braes  — 

The  broomy  braes  o'  June  ? 


166  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

My  head  rins  round  and  round  about, 

My  heart  flows  Hke  a  sea, 
As  ane  by  ane  the  thochts  rush  back 

O'  schuletime  and  o'  thee. 
O  mornin'  life  !     O  mornin'  luve ! 

O  lichtsome  days  and  lang, 
When  hinnied  hopes  around  our  hearts, 

Like  summer  blossoms  sprang ! 

Oh,  mind  ye,  luve,  how  oft  we  left 

The  deavin'  dinsome  town. 
To  wander  by  the  green  burnside, 

And  hear  its  water  croon. 
The  summer  leaves  hung  ower  our  heids. 

The  flowers  burst  round  our  feet, 
And  in  the  gloamin'  i'  the  wud 

The  throstle  whusslit  sweet. 


The  throstle  whusslit  i'  the  wud. 

The  burn  sang  to  the  trees. 
And  we  with  Nature's  heart  in  tune, 

Concerted  harmonies ; 
And  on  the  knowe  abune  the  burn, 

For  hours  thegithcr  sat 
In  the  silentest  o'  joy,  till  baith 

Wi'  very  gladness  grat ! 

Aye,  aye,  dear  Jeanie  Morrison, 
Tears  trinkled  down  your  cheek, 

Like  dew-beads  on  a  rose,  yet  nane 
Had  ony  i)()wer  to  s])cak  ! 


BALLADS.  167 

That  was  a  time,  a  blessed  time, 

When  hearts  were  fresh  and  young, 

When  freely  gushed  all  feelings  forth 
Unsyllablcd  —  unsung ! 

I  marvel,  Jeanie  Morrison, 

Gin  I  hae  been  to  thee, 
As  closely  twined  wi'  earliest  thochts 

As  ye  hae  been  to  me  ? 
Oh,  tell  me  gin  their  music  fills 

Thine  ear  as  it  does  mine ; 
Oh,  say  gin  e'er  your  heart  grows  grit 

Wi'  dreamings  o'  langsyne  ? 

I've  wandered  east,  I've  wandered  west, 

I've  borne  a  weary  lot ; 
But  in  my  wanderings,  far  or  near. 

Ye  never  were  forgot. 
The  fount  that  first  burst  frae  this  heart, 

Still  travels  on  its  way  ; 
And  channels  deeper  as  it  rins 

The  luve  o'  life's  long  day. 

O  dear,  dear  Jeanie  Morrison, 

Since  we  were  sindered  young, 
I've  never  seen  your  face,  nor  heard 

The  music  of  your  tongue  ; 
But  I  could  hug  all  wretchedness, 

And  happy  could  I  die, 
Did  I  but  ken  your  heart  still  dreamed 

O'  bygane  days  and  me. 

—  William  Motherwell. 


168  CHOICE  EXGLISH  LYRICS. 

i6. 
LADY   CLARE. 

It  was  the  time  when  HUes  blow, 

And  clouds  are  highest  up  in  air, 
Lord  Ronald  brought  a  lily-white  doe 

To  give  his  cousin,  Lady  Clare. 

I  trow  they  did  not  part  in  scorn : 

Lovers  long-betroth'd  were  they  : 
They  two  will  wed  the  morrow  morn  : 

God's  blessing  on  the  day  ! 

"  He  does  not  love  me  for  my  birth, 
Nor  for  my  lands  so  broad  and  fair ; 

He  loves  me  for  my  own  true  worth, 
And  that  is  well,"  said  Lady  Clare. 

In  there  came  old  Alice  the  nurse, 

Said,  "  Who  was  this  that  went  from  thee  .?  " 

"  It  was  my  cousin,"  said  Lady  Clare, 
"To-morrow  he  weds  with  me." 

"  O  God  be  thank'd  !  "  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"  That  all  comes  round  so  just  and  fair  : 

Lord  Ronald  is  heir  of  all  your  lands. 
And  you  arc  not  the  Lady  Clare." 

"  Are  ye  out  of  your  mind,  my  nurse,  my  nurse } 
Said  Lady  Clare,  "  that  ye  speak  so  wild  .?  " 

"As  God's  above,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"  I  speak  the  truth  :  you  are  my  child. 


BALLADS.  169 

•'The  old  Earl's  daughter  died  at  my  breast; 

I  speak  the  truth,  as  I  Hve  by  bread ! 
I  buried  her  Hke  my  own  sweet  child, 

And  put  my  child  in  her  stead." 

"  Falsely,  falsely  have  ye  done, 

O  mother,"  she  said,  "  if  this  be  true, 

To  keep  the  best  man  under  the  sun 
So  many  years  from  his  due." 

"  Nay  now,  my  child,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 

"  But  keep  the  secret  for  your  life, 
And  all  you  have  will  be  Lord  Ronald's, 

When  you  are  man  and  wife." 

"  If  I'm  a  beggar  born,"  she  said, 

"  I  will  speak  out,  for  I  dare  not  lie. 
Pull  off,  pull  off,  the  broach  of  gold, 

And  fling  the  diamond  necklace  by." 

"Nay  now,  my  child,"  said  Alice  the  nurse, 

"  But  keep  the  secret  all  ye  can." 
She  said  "  Not  so  :  but  I  will  know 

If  there  be  any  faith  in  man." 

"  Nay  now,  what  faith  } "  said  Alice  the  nurse, 
"The  man  will  cleave  unto  his  right." 

"And  he  shall  have  it,"  the  lady  replied, 
"Tho'  I  should  die  to-night." 

"  Yet  give  one  kiss  to  your  mother  dear ! 

Alas,  my  child,  I  sinn'd  for  thee." 
"  O  mother,  mother,  mother,"  she  said, 

"  So  strange  it  seems  to  me. 


170  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

"  Yet  here's  a  kiss  for  my  mother  dear, 
My  mother  dear,  if  this  be  so, 

And  lay  your  hand  upon  my  head, 
And  bless  me,  mother,  ere  I  go." 

She  clad  herself  in  a  russet  gown, 
She  was  no  longer  Lady  Clare : 

She  went  by  dale,  and  she  went  by  down. 
With  a  single  rose  in  her  hair. 

The  lily-white  doe  Lord  Ronald  had  brought 
Leapt  up  from  where  she  lay, 

Dropt  her  head  in  the  maiden's  hand. 
And  followed  her  all  the  way. 

Down  stept  Lord  Ronald  from  his  tower : 
"  O  Lady  Clare,  you  shame  your  worth ! 

Why  come  you  drest  like  a  village  maid. 
That  are  the  flower  of  the  earth  ? " 

"  If  I  come  drest  like  a  village  maid, 

I  am  but  as  my  fortunes  are : 
I  am  a  beggar  born,"  she  said, 

'•  And  not  the  Lady  Clare." 

"  Play  me  no  tricks,"  said  Lord  Ronald, 
"  For  I  am  yours  in  word  and  in  deed. 

Play  me  no  tricks,"  said  Lord  Ronald, 
"  Your  riddle  is  hard  to  read." 

Oh  and  proudly  stood  she  up  ! 

Her  heart  within  her  did  not  fail : 
She  look'd  into  Lord  Ronald's  eyes, 

And  told  him  all  her  nurse's  tale. 


BALLADS.  171 

He  laughed  a  laugh  of  merry  scorn : 

He  turn'd  and  kiss'd  her  where  she  stood. 

"  If  you  are  not  the  heiress  born, 

And  I,"  said  he,  "the  next  in  blood  — 

"  If  you  are  not  the  heiress  born, 

And  I,"  said  he,  "  the  lawful  heir, 
We  two  will  wed  to-morrow  morn, 

And  you  shall  still  be  Lady  Clare." 

—  Alfred  Tennyson. 


17- 

LUCY   GRAY;    OR,    SOLITUDE. 

Oft  I  had  heard  of  Lucy  Gray : 
And,  when  I  crossed  the  wild, 
I  chanced  to  see  at  break  of  day 
The  solitary  child. 

No  mate,  no  comrade  Lucy  knew ; 
She  dwelt  on  a  wide  moor, 
—  The  sweetest  thing  that  ever  grew 
Beside  a  human  door  ! 

You  yet  may  spy  the  fawn  at  play, 
The  hare  upon  the  green  ; 
But  the  sweet  face  of  Lucy  Gray 
Will  never  more  be  seen. 

"  To-night  will  be  a  stormy  night  — 
You  to  the  town  must  go  ; 
And  take  a  lantern,  child,  to  light 
Your  mother  through  the  snow." 


172  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

"That,  Father!  will  I  gladly  do: 
'  Tis  scarcely  afternoon  — 
The  minster-clock  has  just  struck  two, 
And  yonder  is  the  moon  !  " 

At  this  the  father  raised  his  hook, 
And  snapped  a  faggot-band  ; 
He  plied  his  work  ;  —  and  Lucy  took 
The  lantern  in  her  hand. 

Not  blither  is  the  mountain  roe : 
With  many  a  wanton  stroke 
Her  feet  disperse  the  powdery  snow, 
That  rises  up  like  smoke. 

The  storm  came  on  before  its  time  : 
She  wandered  up  and  down ; 
And  many  a  hill  did  Lucy  climb, 
But  never  reached  the  town. 

The  wretched  parents  all  that  night 
Went  shouting  far  and  wide ; 
But  there  was  neither  sound  nor  sight 
To  serve  them  for  a  guide. 

At  day-break  on  a  hill  they  stood 
That  overlooked  the  moor  ; 
And  thence  they  saw  the  bridge  of  wood, 
A  furlong  from  their  door. 

They  wept  —  and,  turning  homeward,  cried, 
"In  heaven  we  all  shall  meet!  " 
—  When  in  the  snow  the  mother  spied 
The  print  of  Lucy's  feet. 


BALLADS.  173 

Then  downwards  from  the  steep  hill's  edge 
They  tracked  the  footmarks  small ; 
And  through  the  broken  hawthorn  hedge, 
And  by  the  long  stone-wall : 

And  then  an  open  field  they  crossed ; 
The  marks  were  still  the  same  ; 
They  tracked  them  on,  nor  ever  lost ; 
And  to  the  bridge  they  came. 

They  followed  from  the  snowy  bank 
Those  footmarks,  one  by  one, 
Into  the  middle  of  the  plank  ; 
And  further  there  were  none ! 

—  Yet  some  maintain  that  to  this  day 
She  is  a  living  child ; 
That  you  may  see  sweet  Lucy  Gray 
Upon  the  lonesome  wild. 

O'er  rough  and  smooth  she  trips  along, 
And  never  looks  behind  ; 
And  sings  a  solitary  song 
That  whistles  in  the  wind. 

—  William  Wordsworth. 


174  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 


NOTES. 

No.  I.  Robin  Hood's  Death  and  Burial.  Robin  Hood,  a  valiant 
outlaw,  living  free  and  bold  in  the  green  forest,  and  waging  frank  and 
open  war  against  sheriff  and  law,  was  the  most  popular  of  English  heroes. 
"  It  is  he,"  says  an  old  historian,  "  whom  the  common  people  love  so 
dearly  to  celebrate  in  games  and  comedies,  and  whose  history,  sung  by 
liddlers,  interests  them  more  than  any  other." 

Grafton,  after  having  related  that  Robin  Hood  "  practised  robberyes," 
etc.,  adds  that  "  the  King  beyng  greatly  offended  therewith  caused  his 
proclamation  to  be  made  that  whosoever  would  bryng  him  quicke  or  dead, 
the  King  would  give  him  a  great  summe  of  money,  as  by  the  recordes  in 
the  Exchequer  is  to  be  scene."  But  of  this  promise  no  man  enjoyed  any 
benefit;  for  as  long  as  he  had  his  bent  bow  in  his  hand  it  was  not  safe  to 
meddle  with  the  archer  good.  Time,  however,  subdued  his  strength  and 
spirit.  Finding  the  infirmities  of  old  age  increase  upon  him,  and  "  being 
troubled  with  a  sicknesse,  he  came  to  a  certain  nonry  in  Yorkshiere  called 
Bircklies,  where  desiring  to  be  let  blood,  he  was  betrayed  and  bled  to 
death." 

Little  John.  A  stalwart  fellow,  who  upon  his  first  meeting  with 
Robin  Hood  gave  him  a  sound  thrashing,  and  then,  being  rechristened  by 
him,  became  one  of  his  staunchest  followers.  His  original  name  was  John 
Little. 

"  '  This  infant  was  called  John  Little,"  cjuoth  he ; 
'  Which  name  shall  be  changed  anon. 
The  words  we'll  transpose,  so  wherever  he  goes, 
His  name  shall  be  called  Little  John.'  " 

—  R  it  son,  Robin  Hood. 

Little  John  was  finally  apprehended,  and  executed  on  Arbor  Hill, 
Dul)lin. 

L  9.    Kirkley.     Bircklies,  in  Yorkshire. 

No.  2.  Thk  Wife  of  U.siieu's  Well.  This  ballad,  thought  by  some 
to  be  a  fragment  of  a  longer  one,  entitled  The  Clerk's  Twa  Sons  of  Oivsen- 
forl,  was  first  printed  in  Scott's  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  1802. 

L  II.    carline'.     Feminine  of  the  word  c/;«;-/ or  r^;-/. 

L  17.    Martinmas.     The  feast  of  St.  Martin  (November  nth). 

L  20.    birk.     I'.irch. 

L  22.    sheugh.     Shaw,  wut)d,  grove. 

L  42.   channerin'.     Charcoal. 


BALLADS.  175 

No.  3.  King  John  and  the  Abbot.  From  Percy's  Reliqius, 
"  printed  from  an  ancient  black-letter  copy,  to  '  The  tune  of  Derry 
down.'  "  It  seems  to  have  been  abridged  and  modernized  about  the  first 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  from  a  much  older  ballad  entitled  King  John 
and  the  Bishop. 

St.  Bittel.     St.  Botolph. 

No.  4.  The  Douglas  Tragedy.  "This  ballad  exists  in  Denmark, 
and  in  other  European  countries.  The  Scotch  have  localized  it,  and 
point  out  Blackhouse,  on  the  wild  Douglas  Burn,  a  tributary  of  the  Yar- 
row, as  the  scene  of  the  tragedy." 

No.  5.  The  Tvva  Corbies. 

corbies.     Crows.  tane.     The  one, 

gowden.    Golden.  theek.     Thatch. 

een.     Eyes. 

An  English  version  contains  some  additional  stanzas,  and  makes  the 
lady  faithful :  — 

"  She  lifted  up  his  bloody  head, 
And  kissed  his  wounds  that  were  so  red; 
She  buried  him  before  the  prime, 
She  was  dead  herself  ere  evensong  time." 

No.  6.  Edward  of  the  BLoaoY  Brand.  Printed  with  the  old 
Scotch  spelling,  in  Percy's  Reliques,  where  it  stated  that  it  was  "  trans- 
mitted to  the  editor  by  Sir  David  Dalrymple,  Bart.,  late  Lord  Hailes." 
It  has  also  been  attributed  to  Lady  Wardlaw. 

\.  20.   dule  you  drie.     Grief  you  suffer. 

No.  7.  Barbara  Allen's  Cruelty.  This  ballad  was  first  pul)lished 
in  the  Tea-Table  Miscellany,  by  Allan  Ramsey,  in  1724.  It  is  republished 
in  Percy's  Reliques,  with  some  emendations.  That  it  was  in  existence 
long  before  its  publication  by  Ramsey,  is  indicated  by  a  reference  in 
I'epys's  Diary,  January  2,  1665,  to  "the  Httle  Scotch  song  of  Barbary 
Allen." 

"These  harmless  people  had  several  ways  of  being  good  company;  for 
while  one  played  the  other  would  sing  some  soothing  ballad,  '  Johnny 
Armstrong's  Last  Good-Night,'  or  'The  Cruelty  of  Barbara  Allen.'"  — 
Goldsmitli,   Vicar  of  Wakefield. 

No.  8.  BuRU  Helen.  "  Adam  Fleming,  says  tradition,  loved  Helen 
Irving,  or  Helen  Bell  (fur  this  surname  is  uncertain,  as  well  as  the  date  of 
the  occurrence;,   daughter   of  the   Laird  of  Kirconncl  in  Dumfriesshire. 


176  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

The  lovers  being  together  one  clay  by  the  river  Kirtle,  a  rival  suitor  sud- 
denly appeared  on  the  opposite  bank,  and  pointed  his  gun.  Helen  threw 
herself  before  her  sweetheart,  received  the  bullet  in  her  breast,  and  died 
in  his  arms.  Then  Adam  Fleming  fought  with  his  guilty  rival,  and  slew 
him. "  —  IV.  Allingham,  Book  oj  Ballads. 

Burd.     Maiden. 

1.  II.   meikle.     Much. 

1.  34.   een.     Eyes. 

No.  9.  The  Twa  Sisters. 


1.  7. 

gowd.     Gold. 

1.     8. 

abune.     Above. 

1.  26. 

twinned.     Parted,     maik.     Mate. 

1.32. 

gar'd.     Obliged,     gang.     To  go. 

1.33. 

syne.     Then. 

1.  44. 

braw.     Brave,  handsome. 

No.  10.   The  Twa  Brothers. 

1.    6.  warsell.     Wrestle. 

1.  23.  sark.     Shirt. 

1.  24.  rive  it  gair  by  gair.     Tear  it  into  strips. 

1.  26.  syne.     Then. 

1.  31.  sleiding.     A  woven  coat. 

1.  32.  row.     Roll. 

1.  70.  dule  and  wae.     Grief  and  woe. 

No.  II.  LocHiNVAR.  A  song  sung  by  Lady  Heron,  in  Scott's  Mar- 
?nion. 

No.  12.  Black-Eyed  Susan.  This  ballad  was  set  to  music  by 
Richard  Leveridge.  Hazlitt  speaks  of  it  as  "  one  of  the  most  delightful 
songs  imaginable." 

No.  13.  Sai.i.y  in  Our  Alley.  "  A  little  masterpiece  in  a  very  diffi- 
cult style;  Catullus  himself  could  hardly  have  bettered  it.  In  grace, 
tenderness,  simplicity,  and  humor,  it  is  worthy  of  the  ancients;  and  even 
more  so,  from  the  completeness  and  unity  of  the-  picture  presented."  — 
W.  G.  Palgrave. 

No.  14.  AULD  Robin  Gray.  The  author  of  this  ballad  has  herself 
related  the  peculiar  circumstances  under  which  it  was  written.  A  friend 
of  hers  used  to  sing  at  her  father's  house  in  Balcarras  an  old  Scottish 
melody  of  which  she  was  passionately  fond.  This  old  melody  was  marred 
by  the  introduction  of  objectionalde  words,  and  Lady  Barnard  (then  Lady 


BALLADS.  177 

Lindsay)  conceived  the  idea  of  eliminating  this  feature  by  singing  the  air 
to  different  words,  and  giving  to  its  plaintive  tones  some  little  history  of 
virtuous  distress  in  humble  life.  The  song,  as  it  is  here  printed,  was 
accordingly  written,  and  became  a  great  favorite.  But  its  authorship 
remained  a  secret  until  1823,  when  it  was  divulged  by  Lady  Barnard  her- 
self, in  a  letter  to  Sir  Walter  Scott.  The  title  "  Robin  Gray  "  was  taken 
from  the  name  of  a  herdsman  in  Lord  Balcarras's  service. 

No.  15.  Jeanie  Morrison. 

L  5.  Beltane  e'en.  In  Ireland  on  June  21,  and  in  Scotland  on 
May-Day,  a  fire  was  kindled  on  the  hills,  and  the  young  people  danced 
around  it,  feasting  on  milk  and  eggs.  The  word  Beltatie  means  BeVs  firt, 
and  the  custom  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  relic  of  the  worship  of  Baal. 

I.    6.    Yule.     Christmas. 

1.  13.   saut.     Salt. 

1.  16.   blithe  blinks  0'  langsyne.      Happy  moments  of  the  past. 

1.  22.    leir  ilk  ither  lear.     Learn  each  other  learning, 

1.  27.    loof.     Palm. 

1.  36.    decked.     Hooked,  clung. 

1.  38.    skail't.     Dismissed,  closed. 

1.  39.   speel  the  braes.     Climb  the  hills. 

1.  50.    deavin'.     Deafening. 

1.  51.    burnside.     Brookside. 

1.  61.   Knowe  abune  the  burn.     Knoll  above  the  brook. 


%^vkQ  of  Xove, 


oJOio 


J^or  ofttimes  a  love-song  like  a  hymn  of  praise  springeth  spon- 
taneously from  the  singer'^s  heart,  having  been  wrought  therein 
through  the  rapturous  conie/nplation  of  huma?i  beauty  ajid  petfect- 
ness.  Such  a  song  miuistereth  to  the  delight  of  all  poetic  tiatures 
ami  pointeth  them  to  still  loftier  ideals  of  thought  and  life.  And 
there  be  love-songs  of  another  sort,  mere  airy  nothings,  full  of 
artificial  conceits  tricked  out  with  strained  metaphors  and  far-fetched 
figures  of  speech.  These  last,  like  soap-bubbles,  are  not  devoid  of 
beauty,  but  they  are  fragile  and  lifeless,  evanescent  and  cold. 

—  Cecil  Devereux. 


OLD    LOVE   SONG. 

Blow,  northern  wind,  send 
Thou  me  my  sweeting ;  blow 
Northern  wind,  blow,  blow,  blow. 
She's  a  coral  of  goodness. 
She's  a  ruby  of  rich  fulness, 
She's  a  crystal  of  clearness, 
And  banner  of  beauty, 
She's  a  lily  of  largess. 
She  is  parnenke  pronesse. 
She  is  salsecle  of  sweetness 
And  lady  of  Icalty. 
178 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  179 

Blow,  northern  wind,  send 
Thou  me  my  sweeting ;  blow 
Northern  wind,  blow,  blow. 


MY   SWETE   SWETYNG. 

Ah  !  my  swete  swetyng, 
My  lytyl  pretie  swetyng ! 
My  swetyng  wyl  I  loue  whereuer  I  goe : 
She  is  soe  proper  and  pure, 
Stedfaste,  stabyll,  and  demure,  — 
There  is  nonne  suchc,  ye  may  be  sure, 
As  my  swete  swetyng. 

In  all  thys  worlde,  as  thynketh  mee, 
Is  nonne  soe  plesaunte  to  my  'ee. 
That  I  am  gladde  soe  ofte  to  see. 
As  my  swete  swetynge. 

When  I  beholde  my  swetyng  swete. 
Her  face,  her  haundes,  her  minion  fete. 
They  seeme  to  mee  ther  is  nonne  soe  mete 
As  my  swete  swetynge. 

Above  alle  others  prayse  must  I, 
And  loue  my  pretie  pigsnye  ; 
For  nonne  I  finde  so  womanlie 
As  my  swete  swetynge. 


180  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

She  is  soe  proper  and  pure, 
Stedfaste,  stabyll,  and  demure,  — 
There  is  nonne  suche,  ye  may  be  sure, 
As  my  swete  swetynge. 


3- 

IN    PRAISE   OF   DAPHNE. 

My  Daphne's  hair  is  twisted  gold. 
Bright  stars  a-piece  her  eyes  do  hold. 
My  Daphne's  brow  enthrones  the  graces, 
My  Daphne's  beauty  stains  all  faces. 
On  Daphne's  cheek  grow  rose  and  cherry, 
But  Daphne's  lip  a  sweeter  berry ; 
Daphne's  snowy  hand  but  touched  does  melt, 
And  then  no  heavenlier  warmth  is  felt ; 
My  Daphne's  voice  tunes  all  the  spheres. 
My  Daphne's  music  charms  all  ears  ; 
Fond  am  I  thus  to  sing  her  praise. 
These  glories  now  are  turned  to  bays. 

—  John  Lyly. 


4- 
PHILLIS. 


Phillis  is  my  only  joy, 

Faithless  as  the  winds  or  seas ; 
Sometimes  coming,  sometimes  coy, 

Yet  she  never  fails  to  please. 


LYRICS    OF  LOVE.  181 

If  with  a  frown 
I  am  cast  down, 
Phillis  smiling 
And  beguiling, 
Makes  me  happier  than  before. 

Though,  alas !  too  late  I  find 
Nothing  can  her  fancy  fix, 
Yet  the  moment  she  is  kind, 
I  forgive  her  all  her  tricks ; 
Which  though  I  see, 
I  can't  get  free ; 
She  deceiving, 
I  believing, 
What  need  lovers  wish  for  more  ? 

—  Sir  Charles  Sedley. 


5- 
THE    LOVER   TO    HIS    LUTE. 

My  lute,  awake  !  perform  the  last 
Labor  that  thou  and  I  shall  waste ; 
And  end  that  I  have  now  begun : 
And  when  this  song  is  sung  and  past, 
My  lute !  be  still,  for  I  have  done. 

As  to  be  heard  where  ear  is  none ; 
As  lead  to  grave  in  marble  stone. 
My  song  may  pierce  her  heart  as  soon ; 
Should  we  then  sing,  or  sigh,  or  moan  ? 
No,  no,  my  lute  !  for  I  have  done. 


182  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

The  rock  doth  not  so  cruelly, 
Repulse  the  waves  continually, 
As  she  my  suit  and  affection  : 
So  that  I  am  past  remedy ; 
Whereby  my  lute  and  I  have  done. 

Proud  of  the  spoil  that  thou  hast  got 
Of  simple  hearts  thorough  Love's  shot, 
By  whom,  unkind,  thou  hast  them  won ; 
Think  not  he  hath  his  bow  forgot, 
Although  my  lute  and  I  have  done. 

Vengeance  shall  fall  on  thy  disdain, 
That  makest  but  game  of  earnest  pain ; 
Trow  not  alone  under  the  sun 
Unquit  to  cause  thy  lovers  plain, 
Although  my  lute  and  I  have  done. 

May  chance  thee  lie  withered  and  old 
In  winter  nights,  that  are  so  cold, 
Plaining  in  vain  unto  the  moon  ; 
Thy  wishes  then  dare  not  be  told  : 
Care  then  who  list,  for  I  have  done. 

And  then  may  chance  thee  to  repent 
The  time  that  thou  hast  lost  and  spent 
To  cause  thy  lovers  sigh  and  swoon  ; 
Then  shalt  thou  know  beauty  but  lent, 
And  wish  and  want,  as  I  have  done. 

Now  cease,  my  lute  !     This  is  the  last 
Labor  that  thou  and  I  shall  waste ; 


I 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  183 

And  ended  is  that  we  begun  : 

Now  is  thy  song  both  sung  and  past ; 

My  lute,  be  still,  for  I  have  done. 

—  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt. 


THE   LOVER   TO    HIS   LYRE. 

Awake,  awake  my  Lyre ! 
And  tell  thy  silent  master's  humble  tale 
In  sounds  that  may  prevail,  — 
Sounds  that  gentle  thoughts  inspire  : 
Though  so  exalted  she 
And  I  so  lowly  be, 
Tell  her  such  different  notes  make  all  thy  harmony. 

Hark  !  how  the  strings  awake  ; 
And  though  the  moving  hand  approach  not  near, 
Themselves  with  awful  fear 
A  kind  of  numerous  trembling  make. 
Now  all  thy  forces  try  ; 
Now  all  thy  charms  apply : 
Revenge  upon  her  ear  the  conquests  of  her  eye! 

Weak  Lyre  !  thy  virtue  sure 
Is  useless  here,  since  thou  art  only  found 
To  cure,  but  not  to  wound  — 
And  she  to  wound,  but  not  to  cure. 
Too  weak  too  wilt  thou  prove, 
My  passion  to  remu\'e  : 
Physic  to  other  ills,  thou'rt  nourishment  to  love. 


184  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Sleep,  sleep  again,  my  Lyre ! 
For  thou  canst  never  tell  my  humble  tale 
In  sounds  that  will  prevail, 
Nor  gentle  thoughts  in  her  inspire. 
All  thy  vain  mirth  lay  by, 
Bid  thy  strings  silent  lie  : 
Sleep,  sleep  again,  my  Lyre,  and  let  thy  master  die ! 

—  Abraham  Cowley. 


7. 
THE   LOVER'S   APPEAL. 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus .-' 
Say  nay !  say  nay  !  for  shame, 
To  save  thee  from  the  blame 
Of  all  my  grief  and  grame. 
And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus  ? 
Say  nay  !  say  nay  ! 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus. 
That  hath  loved  thee  so  long 
In  wealth  and  woe  among : 
And  is  thy  heart  so  strong 
As  for  to  leave  me  thus  ? 
Say  nay  !  say  nay  ! 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus, 
That  hath  given  thee  my  heart 
Never  for  to  depart 
Neither  for  pain  nor  smart : 
And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus } 
Say  nay  !  say  nay  ! 


i 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  185 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus, 

And  have  no  more  pity 

Of  him  that  loveth  thee  ? 

Alas  !  thy  cruelty  ! 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus  ? 

Say  nay !  say  nay  ! 

—  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt. 


A   LOST   LOVE. 

The  tide  is  high,  and  stormy  beams 
Of  sunlight  scud  across  the  down : 
Above,  the  cloudy  squadrons  frown ; 
On  their  broad  front  a  rainbow  gleams. 

Cease,  boisterous  wind.     The  west  is  gray 
With  glory-coated  mists,  that  swell 
From  distant  seas,  and  gathering  tell 
Of  coming  storm  and  darkened  day. 

Leave  the  dank  clouds  to  droop,  and  guide 
Toward  their  fair  port  yon  sleeping  sails : 
Close-furled  they  wait  the  wakening  gales ; 
Shower-sprinkled  shines  the  pennon  wide. 

Sail  seaward,  stately  ships,  and  view 
Some  blessed  isle  where  love  is  bred. 
Bring  me  again  my  love  that's  dead 
And  all  I  have  I'll  give  to  you. 

—  John  Addington  Symonds. 


186  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

9- 
TO  THE  VIRGINS  TO  MAKE  MUCH  OF  TIME. 

Gather  ye  rose-buds  while  ye  may, 

Old  Time  is  still  a-flying : 
And  this  same  flower  that  smiles  to-day, 

To-morrow  will  be  dying. 

The  glorious  Lamp  of  Heaven,  the  Sun, 

The  higher  he's  a-getting 
The  sooner  will  his  race  be  run, 

And  nearer  he's  to  setting. 

That  age  is  best  which  is  the  first, 
When  youth  and  blood  are  warmer ; 

But  being  spent,  the  worse,  and  worst 
Times,  still  succeed  the  former. 

Then  be  not  coy,  but  use  your  time ; 

And  while  ye  may,  go  marry : 
For  having  lost  but  once  your  prime. 

You  may  for  ever  tarry. 

—  Robert  Herrick. 


lO. 

THE   ROSE'S   MESSAGE. 

Go,  lovely  rose ! 
Tell  her,  that  wastes  her  time  and  me, 

That  now  she  knows 
When  I  resemble  her  to  thee, 
How  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be. 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  187 

Tell  her  that's  young, 
And  shuns  to  have  her  graces  spy'd, 

That  had'st  thou  sprung 
In  deserts  where  no  men  abide, 
Thou  must  have  uncommended  dy'd. 

Small  is  the  worth 
Of  beauty  from  the  light  retir'd : 

Bid  her  come  forth, 
Suffer  herself  to  be  desir'd, 
And  not  blush  so  to  be  admir'd. 

Then  die  !  that  she 
The  common  fate  of  all  things  rare 

May  read  in  thee  : 
How  small  a  part  of  time  they  share, 
That  are  so  wondrous  sweet  and  fair ! 

—  Edmund  Waller. 


GO,  HAPPY  ROSE ! 

Go,  happy  rose !  and,  interwove 
With  other  flowers,  bind  my  love ! 
Tell  her,  too,  she  must  not  be 
Longer  flowing,  longer  free. 
That  so  oft  hath  fettered  me. 

Say,  if  she's  fretful,  I  have  bands 
Of  pearl  and  gold  to  bind  her  hands; 
Tell  her,  if  she  struggles  still, 
I  have  myrtle  rods  at  will, 
For  to  tame,  thoug^h  not  to  kill. 


188  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Take  then  my  blessing  thus,  and  go, 
And  tell  her  this,  —  but  do  not  so  ! 
Lest  a  handsome  anger  fly, 
Like  a  lightning  from  her  eye, 
And  burn  thee  up,  as  well  as  L 

—  Robert  Herrick. 


12. 

PHILLIDA    FLOUTS    ME. 

Oh,  what  a  plague  is  love ! 

I  cannot  bear  it ; 
She  will  unconstant  prove, 

I  greatly  fear  it : 
It  so  torments  my  mind 

That  my  heart  faileth  ; 
She  wavers  with  the  wind 

As  a  ship  saileth. 
Please  her  the  best  I  may, 
She  loves  still  to  gainsay : 
Alack,  and  well-a-day ! 
Phillida  flouts  me. 

At  the  fair,  t'other  day. 

As  she  passed  by  me, 
She  looked  another  way, 

And  would  not  spy  me. 
I  wooed  her  for  to  dine. 

But  could  not  get  her ; 
Dick  had  her  to  The  Vine  — 

He  might  entreat  her; 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  189 

With  Daniel  she  did  dance, 
On  me  she  would  not  glance : 
Oh,  thrice  unhappy  chance ! 
Phillida  flouts  me. 

Fair  maid,  be  not  so  coy  — 

Do  not  disdain  me  ; 
I  am  my  mother's  joy,  — 

Sweet,  entertain  me ! 
I  shall  have,  when  she  dies, 

All  things  that's  fitting, — 
Her  poultry  and  her  bees, 

And  her  goose  sitting  ; 
A  pair  of  mattress  beds, 
A  barrelful  of  shreds ; 
And  yet,  for  all  these  gauds, 
Phillida  flouts  me ! 

I  often  heard  her  say 

That  she  loved  posies : 
In  the  last  month  of  May 

I  gave  her  roses  ; 
Cowslips  and  gillyflowers, 

And  the  sweet  lily, 
I  got  to  deck  the  bowers 

Of  my  dear  Philly  : 
She  did  them  all  disdain. 
And  threw  them  back  again: 
Therefore  'tis  flat  and  plain, 
Phillida  flouts  me. 

Thou  shalt  eat  curds  and  cream 

All  the  year  lasting, 
And  drink  the  crystal  stream, 

Pleasant  in  tasting ; 


CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Swig  whey  until  thou  burst, 

Eat  bramble-berries, 
Pye-lid  and  pastry  crust. 

Pears,  plums,  and  cherries ; 
Thy  garments  shall  be  thin. 
Made  of  a  wether's  skin  : 
Yet,  all's  not  worth  a  pin,  — 
Phillida  flouts  me ! 

Which  way  soe'er  I  go, 

She  still  torments  me  ; 
And  whatsoe'er  I  do, 

Nothing  contents  me. 
I  fade  and  pine  away, 

With  griefs  and  sorrow ; 
I  fall  quite  to  decay. 

Like  any  shadow  : 
I  shall  be  dead,  I  fear, 
Within  a  thousand  year ; 
And  all  because  my  dear 
Phillida  flouts  me. 

Fair  maiden,  have  a  care ! 

And  in  time  take  me ; 
I  can  have  those  as  fair, 

If  you  forsake  me  : 
There's  Doll,  the  dairy-maid, 

Smiled  on  me  lately ; 
And  wanton  Winifred 

Favors  me  greatly : 
She  throws  milk  on  my  clothes, 
Th'other  plays  with  my  nose : 
What  pretty  toys  are  those  ! 
Phillida  flouts  me ! 


LYRICS    OF  LOVE.  191 

She  has  a  cloth  of  mine, 

Wrought  with  blue  Coventry, 
Which  she  keeps  as  a  sign 

Of  my  fidelity ; 
But  if  she  frowns  on  me, 

She  ne'er  shall  wear  it : 
I'll  give  it  to  my  maid  Joan, 

And  she  shall  tear  it. 
Since  'twill  no  better  be, 
I'll  bear  it  patiently  ; 
Yet  all  the  world  may  see 
Phillida  flouts  me. 

—  Anonymous. 


13- 
AN    APPEAL. 

Forget  not  yet  the  tried  intent 
Of  such  a  truth  as  I  have  meant ; 
My  great  travail  so  gladly  spent 
Forget  not  yet ! 

Forget  not  yet  when  first  began 
The  weary  life  ye  know,  since  whan 
The  suit,  the  service  none  tell  can ; 
Forget  not  yet ! 

Forget  not  yet  the  great  assays. 
The  cruel  wrong,  the  scornful  ways ; 
The  painful  patience  in  delays, 
Forget  not  yet ! 


192  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Forget  not !  oh  !  forget  not  this, 
How  long  ago  hath  been,  and  is 
The  mind  that  never  meant  amiss  — 
Forget  not  yet ! 

Forget  not  then  thine  own  approved, 
The  which  so  long  hath  thee  so  loved, 
Whose  steadfast  faith  yet  never  moved  — 
Forget  not  this ! 

—  Sn<  Thomas  Wyatt. 


14. 

THE   PASSIONATE   SHEPHERD   TO 
HIS    LOVE. 

Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love, 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove, 
That  valleys,  groves,  [or]  hills  and  fields, 
Woods  or  steepy  mountains  yields. 

And  we  will  sit  upon  the  rocks. 
Seeing  the  shepherds  feed  their  flocks 
By  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals. 

And  I  will  make  thee  beds  of  roses, 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies, 
A  cap  of  flowers,  and  a  kirtle. 
Embroidered  all  with  leaves  of  myrtle; 

A  gown  made  of  the  finest  wool. 
Which  from  our  pretty  lambs  we  pull ; 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  193 

Fair-lined  slippers  for  the  cold, 
With  buckles  of  the  purest  gold  ; 

A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy-buds, 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs : 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move, 
Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love. 

Thy  silver  dishes  for  thy  meat, 
As  precious  as  the  gods  do  eat. 
Shall,  on  an  ivory  table,  be 
Prepared  each  day  for  thee  and  me. 

The  shepherd  swains  shall  dance  and  sing 
For  thy  delight  each  May-morning. 
If  these  delights  thy  mind  may  move, 
Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love. 

—  Christopher  Marlowe. 


15- 
THE   SHEPHERDESS'S    REPLY. 

If  all  the  world  and  Love  were  young, 
And  truth  in  every  shepherd's  tongue. 
These  pretty  pleasures  might  me  move 
To  live  with  thee,  and  be  thy  love. 

Time  drives  the  flocks  from  field  to  fold, 
When  rivers  rage,  and  rocks  grow  cold  ; 
Then  Philomel  becometh  dumb, 
The  rest  complains  of  cares  to  come. 

N 


194  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

The  flowers  do  fade,  and  wanton  fields 
To  wayward  winter  reckoning  yields; 
A  honey  tongue,  a  heart  of  gall, 
Is  fancy's  spring,  but  sorrow's  fall. 

Thy  gowns,  thy  shoes,  thy  beds  of  roses, 
Thy  cap,  thy  kirtle,  and  thy  posies, 
Soon  break,  soon  wither,  soon  forgotten ; 
In  folly  ripe,  in  reason  rotten. 

Thy  belt  of  straw  and  ivy-buds. 
Thy  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs, 
All  these  in  me  no  means  can  move, 
To  come  to  thee  and  be  thy  love. 

What  should  we  talk  of  dainties,  then, 
Of  better  meat  than's  fit  for  men  } 
These  are  but  vain  :  that's  only  good 
Which  God  hath  bless'd  and  sent  for  food. 

But  could  youth  last,  and  love  still  breed, 
Had  joys  no  date,  nor  age  no  need  ; 
Then  those  delights  my  mind  might  move. 
To  live  with  thee  and  be  thy  love. 

—  Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 


i6. 

LITTLE    BUT    LONG. 

Love  me  little,  love  me  long. 
Is  the  burden  of  my  song. 
Love  that  is  too  hot  and  strong 
Burneth  soon  to  waste. 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  195 

Still  I  would  not  have  thee  cold, 
Not  too  backward  or  too  bold ; 
Love  that  lasteth  till  'tis  old 
Fadeth  not  in  haste. 


If  thou  lovest  me  too  much, 

It  will  not  prove  as  true  as  touch ; 

Love  me  little,  more  than  such, 

For  I  fear  the  end. 
I  am  with  little  well  content. 
And  a  little  from  thee  sent 
Is  enough,  with  true  intent. 

To  be  steadfast,  friend. 

Say  thou  lov'st  me  while  thou  live, 
I  to  thee  my  love  will  give, 
Never  dreaming  to  deceive 

While  that  life  endures  : 
Nay,  and  after  death,  in  sooth, 
I  to  thee  will  keep  my  truth, 
As  now,  when  in  my  May  of  youth, 

This  my  love  assures. 

Constant  love  is  moderate  ever. 
And  it  will  through  life  persever ; 
Give  me  that  —  with  true  endeavor 

I  will  it  restore. 
A  suit  of  durance  let  it  be. 
For  all  weathers ;  that  for  me, 
For  the  land  or  for  the  sea. 

Lasting  evermore. 


196  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Winter's  cold  or  summer's  heat, 
Autumn's  tempests  on  it  beat, 
It  can  never  know  defeat, 

Never  can  rebel. 
Such  the  love  that  I  would  gain, 
Such  the  love,  I  tell  thee  plain, 
Thou  must  give,  or  woo  in  vain  ; 

So  to  tliee  farewell. 


17- 

PASTORAL. 

Mv  banks  they  are  furnished  with  bees 

Whose  murmur  invites  one  to  sleep ; 
My  grottos  are  shaded  with  trees, 

And  my  hills  are  white  over  with  sheep. 
I  seldom  have  met  with  a  loss, 

Such  health  do  my  fountains  bestow  — 
My  fountains  all  bordered  with  moss. 

Where  the  harebells  and  violets  grow. 

Not  a  pine  in  my  grove  is  there  seen 

But  with  tendrils  of  woodbine  is  bound; 
Not  a  beech's  more  beautiful  green 

But  a  sweetbricr  entwines  it  around. 
Not  my  fields  in  the  prime  of  the  year 

More  charms  than  niy  cattle  unfold; 
Not  a  brook  that  is  limpid  and  clear 

But  it  glitters  witli  lishcs  of  gold. 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  197 

One  would  think  she  might  Hke  to  retire 

To  the  bow'r  I  have  labored  to  rear; 
Not  a  shrub  that  I  heard  her  admire 

But  I  hastened  and  planted  it  there. 
Oh,  how  sudden  the  jessamine  strove 

With  the  lilac,  to  render  it  gay ! 
Already  it  calls  for  my  love, 

To  prune  the  wild  branches  away. 


From  the  plains,  from  the  woodlands  and  groves. 

What  strains  of  wild  melody  flow ! 
How  the  nightingales  warble  their  loves 

From  thickets  of  roses  that  blow ! 
And  when  her  bright  form  shall  appear, 

Each  bird  shall  harmoniously  join 
In  a  concert,  so  soft  and  so  clear 

As  she  may  not  be  fond  to  resign. 

I  have  found  out  a  gift  for  my  fair  — 

I  have  found  where  the  wood-pigeons  breed ; 
But  let  me  that  plunder  forbear  — 

She  will  say  'twas  a  barbarous  deed. 
For  he  ne'er  could  be  true,  she  averr'd, 

Who  would  rob  a  poor  bird  of  her  young ; 
And  I  loved  her  the  more  when  I  heard 

Such  tenderness  fall  from  her  tongue. 

I  have  heard  her  with  sweetness  unfold 

How  that  Pity  was  due  to  a  dove ; 
That  it  ever  attended  the  bold, 

And  she  called  it  the  sister  of  Love. 


198  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

But  her  words  such  a  pleasure  convey, 

So  much  I  her  accents  adore, 
Let  her  speak,  and  whatever  she  say, 

Methinks  I  should  love  her  the  more. 

Can  a  bosom  so  gentle  remain 

Unmoved  when  her  Corydon  sighs? 
Will  a  nymph  that  is  fond  of  the  plain, 

These  plains  and  this  valley  despise  ? 
Dear  regions  of  silence  and  shade ! 

Soft  scenes  of  contentment  and  ease ! 
Where  I  could  have  pleasingly  strayed,    ' 

If  aught  in  her  absence  could  please. 

But  where  does  my  Phyllida  stray  ? 

And  where  are  her  grots  and  her  bowers } 
Are  the  groves  and  the  valleys  as  gay. 

And  the  shepherds  as  gentle  as  ours .-' 
The  groves  may  perhaps  be  as  fair, 

And  the  face  of  the  valleys  as  fine ; 
The  swains  may  in  manners  compare  — 

But  their  love  is  not  equal  to  mine. 

—  William  Shenstone. 


i8. 
SILENT    MUSIC. 

Rose-cheeked  Laura,  come! 
Sing  thou  smoothly  with  thy  beauty's 
Silent  music,  either  other 

Sweetly  gracing. 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  199 

Lovely  forms  do  flow 
From  concent  divinely  framed  ; 
Heaven  is  music,  and  thy  beauty's 

Birth  is  heavenly. 

These  dull  notes  we  sing 
Discords  need  for  helps  to  grace  them  ; 
Only  beauty  purely  loving 

Knows  no  discord ; 

But  still  moves  delight, 

Like  clear  springs  renewed  by  flowing, 

Ever  perfect,  ever  in  thcm- 

Selves  eternal. 

—  Thomas  Campion. 


19. 

SAMELA. 

Like  to  Diana  in  her  summer  weed. 
Girt  with  a  crimson  robe  of  brightest  dye, 

Goes  fair  Samela ! 
Whiter  than  be  the  flocks  that  straggling  feed, 
When  washed  by  Arethusa  faint  they  lie, 

Is  fair  Samela ! 
As  fair  Aurora  in  her  morning  gray, 
Decked  with  the  ruddy  glister  of  her  love, 

Is  fair  Samela ! 
Like  lovely  Thetis  on  a  calmed  day, 
Whenas  her  brightness  Neptune's  fancies  move. 

Shines  fair  Samela ! 
Her  tresses  gold,  her  eyes  like  glassy  streams ; 
Her  teeth  are  pearl,  the  breasts  are  ivory 

Of  fair  Samela ! 


200  CHOICE   EiVGLISH  LYRICS. 

Her  cheeks,  like  rose  and  lily,  yield  forth  gleams; 
Her  brows'  bright  arches  framed  of  ebony : 

Thus  fair  Samela 
Passeth  fair  Venus  in  her  bravest  hue, 
And  Juno  in  the  show  of  majesty, 

For  she's  Samela! 
Pallas  in  wit,  —  all  three,  if  you  will  view, 
For  beauty,  wit,  and  matchless  dignity, 

Yield  to  Samela. 

—  Robert  Greene. 


TO    HELEN. 

Helen,  thy  beauty  is  to  me 

Like  those  Nic^an  barks  of  yore, 

That  gently  o'er  a  perfumed  sea. 

The  weary  way-worn  wanderer  bore 
To  his  own  native  shore. 

On  desperate  seas  long  wont  to  roam, 
Thy  hyacinth  hair,  thy  classic  face, 

Thy  Naiad  airs  have  brought  me  home 
To  the  glory  that  was  Greece, 
And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome. 

Lo  !  in  yon  brilliant  window-niche 
How  statue-like  I  see  thee  stand. 
The  agate  lamp  within  thy  hand  ! 

Ah,  Psyche,  from  the  regions  which 

Are  Holy  Land ! 

—  Edgar  Allan  Tok 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  201 


MY   JEAN. 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw, 

I  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives, 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best : 
There  wild  woods  grow,  and  rivers  row, 

And  mony  a  hill  between ; 
But,  day  and  night,  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair : 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air : 
There's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green  ; 
There's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings, 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 

—  Robert  Burns. 


MARY   MORISON. 
Tune — "Bide  ye  yet." 

O  Mary,  at  thy  window  be, 

It  is  the  wished,  the  trysted  hour ! 

Those  smiles  and  glances  let  me  see. 
That  make  the  miser's  treasure  poor 


"^^^  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

How  blithely  wad  I  bide  the  stoure, 
A  weary  slave  frae  sun  to  sun ; 

Could  I  the  rich  reward  secure, 
The  lovely  Mary  Morison. 

Yestreen,  when  to  the  trembling  string 

The  dance  gaed  thro'  the  lighted  ha'. 
To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing, 

I  sat,  but  neither  heard  nor  saw  ; 
Tho'  this  was  fair,  and  that  was  braw. 

And  yon  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 
I  sigh'd,  and  said  amang  them  a', 

"Ye  are  na  Mary  Morison." 

O  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace, 

Wha  for  thy  sake  wad  gladly  die  ? 
Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  his, 

Whase  only  faut  is  loving  thee  ? 
If  love  for  love  thou  wilt  na  gie, 

At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown ! 
A  thought  ungentle  canna  be 

The  thought  o'  Mary  Morison. 

—  Robert  Burns. 


23- 
HIGHLAND    MARY. 

Ye  banks  and  braes  and  streams  around 

The  castle  o'  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods,  and  fair  your  flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlic  ! 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  203 

There  simmer  first  unfauld  her  robes, 

And  there  the  langest  tarry  ; 
For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

O'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary, 

How  sweetly  bloomed  the  gay  green  birk, 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom, 
As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade 

I  clasped  her  to  my  bosom ! 
The  golden  hours  on  angel  wings 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie ; 
For  dear  to  me  as  light  and  life 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Wi'  mony  a  vow  and  locked  embrace 

Our  parting  was  fu'  tender ; 
And  pledging  aft  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  oursels  asunder; 
But,  oh !  fell  Death's  untimely  frost, 

That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early  ! 
Now  green's  the  sod,  and  cauld's  the  clay, 

That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary  ! 

Oh  pale,  pale  now,  those  rosy  lips, 

I  aft  hae  kissed  sae  fondly  ! 
And  closed  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly ; 
And  mouldering  now  in  silent  dust 

That  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly ! 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 

—  Robert  Burns. 


204  CHOICE   ENGLISH  L  VRICS. 

24. 

TO    MARY   IN    HEAVEN. 

Tune  —  "  Miss  Forbes'  Farewell  to  Banff." 

Thou  ling'ring  star,  with  less'ning  ray, 

That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  morn, 
Again  thou  usher'st  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn. 
O  Mary  !  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast  ? 

That  sacred  hour  can  I  forget, 

Can  I  forget  the  hallow'd  grove. 
Where  by  the  winding  Ayr  we  met. 

To  live  one  day  of  parting  love  ! 
Eternity  will  not  efface 

Those  records  dear  of  transports  past ; 
Thy  image  at  our  last  embrace ; 

Ah  !  little  thought  we  'twas  our  last! 

Ayr  gurgling  kissed  his  pebbled  shore, 

O'erhung  with  wild  woods,  thick'ning  green  ; 
The  fragrant  birch,  and  hawthorn  hoar, 

Twined  am'rous  round  the  raptured  scene. 
The  flowers  sprang  wanton  to  be  prest, 

The  birds  sang  love  on  ev'ry  spray,  — 
Till  too,  too  soon,  the  glowing  west 

Proclaim'd  the  speed  of  winged  day. 

Still  o'er  these  scenes  my  mem'ry  wakes. 
And  fondly  broods  with  miser  care ; 

Time  but  th'impression  deeper  makes. 
As  streams  their  channels  deeper  wear. 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  205 

My  Mary,  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast? 

—  Robert  Burns. 


25- 

THE    AUTHOR'S    RESOLUTION    IN   A 
SONNET. 

Shall  I,  wasting  in  despaire 

Dye,  because  a  woman's  fair  ? 

Or  make  pale  my  cheeks  with  care 

Cause  another's  rosie  are  ? 

Be  she  fairer  than  the  Day 
Or  the  flowry  Meads  in  May, 
If  she  thinke  not  well  of  me, 
What  care  I  hoiv  faire  she  be  ? 

Shall  my  seely  heart  be  pin'd 
Cause  I  see  a  woman  kind  ? 
Or  a  well-disposed  Nature 
Joyned  with  a  lovely  feature  ? 

Be  she  Meeker,  Kinder  than 

Turtle-dove  or  Pellican : 

If  she  be  not  so  to  me, 

What  care  I  how  kind  she  be  ? 

Shall  a  woman's  Vertues  move 
Me  to  perish  for  her  Love  ? 
Or  her  wel  descrvings  knowne 
Make  me  quite  forget  mine  own  ? 


206  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Be  she  with  that  Goodness  blest 
Which  may  merit  name  of  best: 
If  she  be  not  such  to  me, 
What  care  I  how  Good  she  be  ? 

Cause  her  Fortune  seems  too  high 

Shall  I  play  the  fool  and  die  ? 

She  that  beares  a  Noble  mind, 

If  not  outward  helpes  she  find, 

Thinks  what  with  them  he  wold  do, 
That  without  them  dares  her  woe. 
And  unlesse  that  Mhide  I  see 
What  care  I  how  great  she  be  ? 

Great,  or  Good,  or  Kind,  or  Faire 
I  will  ne're  the  more  despaire  : 
If  she  love  me  (this  beleeve) 
I  will  Die  ere  she  shall  grieve. 

If  she  slight  me  when  I  woe, 

I  can  scorne  and  let  her  goe. 

For  if  she  be  not  for  me 

What  care  I  for  whom  she  be .'' 

—  George  Wither. 


26. 

THE   SOLDIER   GOING   TO    THE   FIELD. 

Preserve  thy  sighs,  unthrifty  girl, 
To  purify  the  air ; 

Thy  tears  to  thread,  instead  of  pearl, 
On  bracelets  of  thy  hair. 


LYRICS    OF  LOVE.  207 

The  trumpet  makes  the  echo  hoarse, 
And  wakes  the  louder  drum  ; 
Expense  of  grief  gains  no  remorse, 
When  sorrow  should  be  dumb : 

For  I  must  go,  where  lazy  peace 
Will  hide  her  drowsy  head  ; 
And,  for  the  sport  of  kings,  increase 
The  number  of  the  dead. 

But  first  I'll  chide  thy  cruel  theft; 
Can  I  in  war  delight, 
Who,  being  of  my  heart  bereft. 
Can  have  no  heart  to  fight  ? 

Thou  know'st  the  sacred  laws  of  old 
Ordained  a  thief  should  pay, 
To  quit  him  of  his  theft,  sevenfold 
What  he  had  stol'n  away. 

Thy  payment  shall  but  double  be ; 
Oh  then  with  speed  resign 
My  own  seduced  heart  to  me, 
Accompanied  with  thine. 

—  Sir  William  Davenant. 


•    27, 
SONG   TO    CHLORIS. 

Ah  !  Chloris,  that  I  now  could  sit 
As  unconcerned  as  when 

Your  infant  beauty  could  beget 
No  pleasure,  nor  no  pain ! 


208  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

When  I  the  dawn  used  to  admire 
And  praised  the  coming  day, 

I  little  thought  the  growing  fire 
Must  take  my  rest  away. 

Your  charms  in  harmless  childhood  lay, 

Like  metals  in  the  mine, 
Age  from  no  face  took  more  away 

Than  youth  concealed  in  thine. 

But  as  your  charms  insensibly 

To  their  perfection  prest, 
Fond  love  as  unperceived  did  fly, 

And  in  my  bosom  rest. 

My  passion  with  your  beauty  grew, 

And  Cupid  at  my  heart. 
Still  as  his  mother  favored  you, 

Threw  a  new  flaming  dart. 

Each  gloried  in  their  wanton  part ; 

To  make  a  lover,  he 
Employed  the  utmost  of  his  art, 

To  make  a  beauty  she. 

Though  now  I  slowly  bend  to  love, 

Uncertain  of  my  fate, 
If  your  fair  self  my  chains  approve 

I  shall  my  freedom  hate. 

Lovers,  like  dying  men,  may  well 

At  first  disordered  be. 
Since  none  alive  can  truly  tell 

What  fortune  they  must  see. 

—  Sir  Charles  Sedlev. 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  -09 

28. 

SONG. 

Welcome,  welcome  do  I  sing 
Far  more  welcome  than  the  spring : 

He  that  parteth  from  you  never 
Shall  enjoy  a  spring  for  ever. 

Love,  that  to  the  voice  is  near 

Breaking  from  your  ivory  pale, 
Need  not  walk  abroad  to  hear 

The  delightful  nightingale. 

Welcome,  welcome  then  I  sing 

Far  more  welcome  than  the  spring : 

He  that  parteth  from  you  never 
Shall  enjoy  a  spring  for  ever. 

Love,  that  looks  still  on  your  eyes, 

Tho'  the  winter  have  begun 
To  benumb  our  arteries. 

Shall  not  want  the  summer's  sun. 

Welcome,  welcome,  &c. 

Love,  that  still  may  see  your  cheeks, 

Where  all  rareness  still  reposes, 
Is  a  fool  if  ere  he  seeks 

Other  lilies,  other  roses. 

Welcome,  welcome,  &c. 

Love,  to  whom  your  soft  lip  yields. 
And  perceives  your  breath  in  kissing, 

All  the  odors  of  the  fields 

Never,  never  shall  be  missing. 

Welcome,  welcome,  &c. 
o 


?,10  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Love,  that  question  would  anew 
What  fair  Eden  was  of  old, 

Let  him  rightly  study  you. 
And  a  brief  of  that  behold. 

Welcome,  welcome,  &c. 

—  William  Browne. 


29. 
TO    ALTHEA  — FROM    PRISON. 

When  Love  with  unconfined  wings 

Hovers  within  my  gates. 
And  my  divine  Althea  brings 

To  whisper  at  the  grates ; 
When  I  lie  tangled  in  her  hair 

And  fetter'd  to  her  eye, 
The  birds  that  wanton  in  the  air 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

When  flowing  cups  run  swiftly  round 

With  no  allaying  Thames, 
Our  careless  heads  with  roses  crown'd, 

Our  hearts  with  loyal  flames ; 
When  thirsty  grief  in  wine  we  steep, 

When  healths  and  draughts  go  free- 
Fishes  that  tipple  in  the  deep 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

When,  linnet-like  confined,  I 
With  shriller  throat  shall  sing 

The  sweetness,  mercy,  majesty 
And  glories  of  my  King ; 


LYRICS    OF  LOVE.  211 

When  I  shall  voice  aloud  how  good 

He  is,  how  great  should  be, 
Enlarged  winds,  that  curl  the  flood, 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage  ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 

That  for  an  hermitage  : 
If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love 

And  in  my  soul  am  free, 
Angels  alone,  that  soar  above, 

Enjoy  such  liberty. 

—  Colonel  Richard  Lovelace. 


30- 
HER   GOLDEN    HAIR. 

Amarantha,  sweet  and  fair, 

O  braid  no  more  that  shining  hair ! 

Let  it  fly,  as  unconfined 

As  its  calm  ravisher,  the  wind 

Who  hath  left  his  darling  east 

To  wanton  o'er  that  spicy  nest. 

Ev'ry  tress  must  be  confest. 

But  neatly  tangled  at  the  best  — 

Like  a  clew  of  golden  thread 

Most  excellently  ravelled ; 

Do  not,  then,  wind  up  that  light 

In  ribbons,  and  o'ercloud  in  night, 

Like  the  sun's  in  early  ray  ; 

But  shake  your  head,  and  scatter  day ! 

—  Colonel  Richard  Lovelace. 


212  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

31- 
TO  LUCASTA   (ON    GOING    TO    THE   WARS). 

Tell  me  not,  sweet,  I  am  unkind,  — 

That  from  the  nunnery 
Of  thy  chaste  breast  and  quiet  mind 

To  war  and  arms  I  fly. 

True,  a  new  mistress  now  I  chase, 

The  first  foe  in  the  field ; 
And  with  a  stronger  faith  embrace 

A  sword,  a  horse,  a  shield. 

Yet  this  inconstancy  is  such 

As  you,  too,  shall  adore  ; 
I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 

Loved  I  not  Honor  more. 

—  Colonel  Richard  Lovelace. 


32- 
APPRENTICED. 

(old  style.) 

"  Come  out  and  hear  the  waters  shoot,  the  owlet  hoot, 
the  owlet  hoot ; 
Yon  crescent  moon,  a  golden  boat,  hangs  dim  behind 
the  tree,  O  ! 
The  dropping  thorn  makes  white  the  grass,  O  sweetest 
lass,  and  sweetest  lass ; 
Come  out  and  smell  the  ricks  of  hay  adown  the  croft 
with  me,  01" 


LYEICS   OF  LOVE.  213 

"  My  granny  nods  before   her  wheel,  and    drops    her 
reel,  and  drops  her  reel ; 
My  father  with  his  crony  talks  as  gay  as  gay  can  be,  O  ! 
But  all  the  milk  is  yet  to  skim,  ere  light  wax  dim,  ere 
light  wax  dim  ; 
How  can  I  step  adown  the  croft,  my  'prentice  lad, 
with  thee,  O  ?  " 

"And  must  ye  bide,   yet  waiting's  long,  and  love  is 
strong,  and  love  is  strong ; 
And  O !  had  I  but  served  the  time  that  takes  so  long 
to  flee,  O  ! 
And  thou,  my  lass,  by  morning's  light,  wast  all  in  white, 
wast  all  in  white  ; 
And  parson  stood  within  the  rails,  a-marrying  me  and 
thee,  O !  " 

—  Jean  Ingelow. 


33- 
THE    LONG   WHITE   SEAM. 

As  I  came  round  the  harbor  buoy, 

The  lights  began  to  gleam, 
No  wave  the  land-locked  harbor  stirred, 

The  crags  were  white  as  cream  ; 
And  I  marked  my  love  by  candlelight 
Sewing  her  long  white  seam. 
It's  aye  sewing  ashore,  my  dear, 

Watch  and  steer  at  sea, 
It's  reef  and  furl,  and  haul  the  line, 
Set  sail  and  think  of  thee. 


214  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

I  climbed  to  reach  her  cottage  door ; 

Oh  sweetly  my  love  sings ! 
Like  a  shaft  of  light  her  voice  breaks  forth, 

My  soul  to  meet  it  springs, 
As  the  shining  water  leaped  of  old 
When  stirred  by  angel  wings. 
Aye  longing  to  list  anew, 

Awake  and  in  my  dream, 
But  never  a  song  she  sang  like  this, 
Sewing  her  long  white  seam. 

Fair  fall  the  lights,  the  harbor  lights, 

That  brought  me  in  to  thee. 
And  peace  drop  down  on  that  low  roof, 

For  the  sight  that  I  did  see. 
And  the  voice,  my  dear,  that  rang  so  clear. 
All  for  the  love  of  me. 

For  O,  for  O,  with  brows  bent  low, 
By  the  flickering  candle's  gleam. 
Her  wedding  gown  it  was  she  wrought. 
Sewing  the  long  white  seam. 

—  Jean  Ingelow. 


34. 
A    BRIDAL    SONG. 

Roses,  their  sharp  spines  being  gone, 
Not  royal  in  their  smells  alone, 

But  in  their  hue  ; 
Maiden-pinks,  of  odor  faint  ; 
Daisies  smell-less,  yet  most  quaint, 

And  sweet  thyme  true; 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  215 

Primrose,  first-born  child  of  Ver, 
Merry  spring-time's  harbinger, 

With  her  bells  dim  ; 
Oxlips  in  their  cradles  growing, 
Marigolds  on  death-beds  blowing, 

Lark-heels  trim ; 

All,  dear  Nature's  children  sweet. 
Lie  'fore  bride  and  bridegroom's  feet, 

Blessing  their  sense ! 
Not  an  angel  of  the  air. 
Bird  melodious,  or  bird  fair, 

Be  absent  hence ! 

The  crow,  the  slanderous  cuckoo,  nor 
The  boding  raven,  nor  chough  hoar. 

Nor  chattering  pie. 
May  on  our  bride-house  perch  or  sing, 
Or  with  them  any  discord  bring. 

But  from  it  fly  ! 

—  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 


35- 
CONSTANCY. 

Out  upon  it,  I  have  loved 
Three  whole  days  together ; 

And  am  like  to  love  three  more. 
If  it  prove  fair  weather. 


216  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Time  shall  moult  away  his  wings, 

Ere  he  shall  discover 
In  the  whole  wide  world  again 

Such  a  constant  lover. 

But  the  spite  on't  is,  no  praise 

Is  due  at  all  to  me  : 
Love  with  me  had  made  no  stays, 

Had  it  any  been  but  she. 

Had  it  any  been  but  she, 

And  that  very  face. 
There  had  been  at  least  ere  this 

A  dozen  dozen  in  her  place. 

—  Sir  John  Suckling. 


36. 
COME   O'ER   THE   SEA. 

Come  o'er  the  sea, 

Maiden,  with  me, 
Mine  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  snows ; 

Seasons  may  roll. 

But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 
Let  fate  frown  on,  so  we  love  and  part  not ; 
'Tis  life  where  thou  art,  'tis  death  where  thou  art  not. 

Then  come  o'er  the  sea, 

Maiden,  with  me. 
Come  wherever  the  wild  wind  blows ; 

Seasons  may  roll. 

But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  217 

Was  not  the  sea 

Made  for  the  free, 
Land  for  courts  and  chains  alone  ? 

Here  we  are  slaves, 

But  on  the  waves 
Love  and  liberty's  all  our  own. 
No  eye  to  watch,  and  no  tongue  to  wound  us, 
All  earth  forgot,  and  all  heaven  around  us  — 

Then  come  o'er  the  sea. 

Maiden,  with  me. 
Mine  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  snows  ; 

Seasons  may  roll, 

But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 

—  Thomas  Moore. 


37- 
THE   BANKS   OF   BOON. 

Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon, 
How  can  ye  bloom  sae  fair  ! 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 
And  I  sae  fu'  o'  care  ! 

Thou'll  break  my  heart,  thou  bonnie  bird, 
That  sings  upon  the  bough ; 
Thou  minds  me  o'  the  happy  days 
When  my  fause  Luve  was  true. 

Thou'll  break  my  heart,  thou  bonnie  bird. 
That  sings  beside  thy  mate  ; 
For  sac  I  sat,  and  sac  I  sang, 
And  wist  na  o'  my  fate. 


218  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Aft  hae  I  roved  by  bonnie  Doon 
To  see  the  woodbine  twine, 
And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  love ; 
And  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 

Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose, 
Frae  aff  its  thorny  tree ; 
And  my  fause  luver  staw  the  rose, 
But  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 

—  Robert  Burns. 


38. 
SONG. 


Lay  a  garland  on  my  hearse 
Of  the  dismal  yew  ; 
Maidens,  willow  branches  bear: 
Say,  I  died  true. 

My  love  was  false,  but  I  was  firm 
From  my  hour  of  birth. 
Upon  my  buried  body  lie 
Lightly,  gentle  earth ! 

—  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 


39- 
PENTHEA'S    DYING    SONG. 

Oh  no  more,  no  more,  too  late 

Sighs  are  spent ;  the  burning  tapers 
Of  a  life  as  chaste  as  fate, 

Pure  as  are  unwritten  papers, 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  219 

Are  burnt  out ;  no  heat,  no  light 
Now  remains  ;  'tis  ever  night. 

Love  is  dead ;  let  lovers'  eyes, 

Locked  in  endless  dreams, 

Th'extremes  of  all  extremes. 

Ope  no  more,  for  now  Love  dies. 
Now  Love  dies  —  implying 
Love's  martyrs  must  be  ever,  ever  dying. 

—  John  Ford. 


40. 
STANZAS    FOR    MUSIC. 

There  be  none  of  Beauty's  daughters 

With  a  magic  like  thee ; 
And  like  music  on  the  waters 

Is  thy  sweet  voice  to  me  : 
When,  as  if  its  sound  were  causing 
The  charmed  ocean's  pausing. 
The  waves  lie  still  and  gleaming, 
And  the  lull'd  winds  seem  dreaming : 

And  the  midnight  moon  is  weaving 
Her  bright  chain  o'er  the  deep  ; 

Whose  breast  is  gently  heaving. 
As  an  infant's  asleep  : 

So  the  spirit  bows  before  thee, 

To  listen  and  adore  thee; 

With  a  full  but  soft  emotion, 

Like  the  swell  of  Summer's  ocean. 

—  Lord  Byron. 


220  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 


NOTES. 

No.   I.    Love  Song.  These  lines  are  adapted  from  what  Warton  says 

is  the   earliest  love-song  in   our   language.       The   original   is  among  the 

Harleian  manuscripts  in  the   British  Museum,   and  was  written  probably 
before  the  year  1200. 

No.  2.  My  Swete  Swetyng.  Written,  it  is  supposed,  in  the  time  0/ 
Henry  VIII.     The  author  is  unknown. 

1.  13.    minion.     Dainty,  neat. 

1.  17.  pigsnye.  A  word  of  endearment  for  a  girl  or  a  woman.  From 
1  )anish  pige,  a  girl. 

"  She  was  a  primerole,  a  piggesnie."  —  Chaucer,  Canterbury  Tales,  3268. 

No.  3.  In  Praise  of  Daphne.  Daphne,  the  daughter  of  a  river- 
god,  fleeing  from  Apollo,  was  changed  into  a  laurel,  or  bay,  tree.  The  bay 
is  the  tree  of  Apollo. 

No.  6.  The  Lover  to  his  Lyre.  The  resemblance  between  this 
song  and  that  which  precedes  it,  although  not  approaching  imitation, 
needs  no  comment.  Dr.  Johnson  says  of  Cowley's  love-songs  that  they 
are  "  such  as  might  have  been  written  for  penance  by  a  hermit,  or  for  hire 
by  a  philosophical  rhymer  who  had  only  heard  of  another  sex." 

No.  7.   The  Lover's  Appeal. 

L  4.    grame.     Sorrow.     See  Chaucer,  Canterbury  Tales,  16,871:  — 
"  Lo  swiche  a  lucre  is  this  lusty  game, 
A  man's  mirth  it  wol  turn  all  to  grame." 

No.  9.   The  Virgins.     See  Wisdom  of  Solomon,  ii.,  8  :  — 
"  Let  us  crown  ourselves  with  rosebuds,  before  they  be  withered." 

No.  10.  The  Rose's  Message.  "Waller's  fame  has  sadly,  but  not 
undeservedly,  declined  since  the  time  when  it  used  to  be  taken  for  grante<l 
tliat  he  had  virtually  invented  English  poetry,  or,  one  might  almost  say, 
the  English  language;  since  an  editor  1  of  his  poems  (1690)  could  write 
that  his  was  '  a  name  that  carries  everything  in  it  that  is  cither  great  or 
graceful  in  poetry.  He  was  indeed  the  parent  of  English  verse,  and  the 
first  that  showed  us  our  tongue  had  beauty  and  numbers  in  it.  The  tongue 
came  into  his  hands  like  a  rough  diamond;  he  polished  it  first,  and  to 
that  degree  that  all  artists  since  him  have  admired  the  workmanship  with- 
out pretending  to  mend  it.'  "  —  Dean  Trench. 

'  Thought  to  be  Francis  Atlerbviry,  Bishop  of  Rochester. 


LYRICS   OF  LOVE.  221 

I.  7.  graces  spy'd.  "These  syllables  drag  painfully  on  the  tongue 
and  I  remember  to  have  heard  the  greatest  living  authority  on  melodious 
numbers  suggest  that  Waller  must  have  written  graces  eyed.  The  first 
edition  of  1645,  however,  has,  by  an  obvious  misprint,  ^v-fzc^  spyd,  and  I 
believe  that  what  Waller  wrote  was  grace  esp/d." 

II.  9,  10,     Compare  with  Gray's  Elegy  :  — 

"  Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air." 

No.  14.  The  Passionate  Shepherd  to  his  Love.  "  It  would  be 
ludicrous,"  says  Mr.  Palgrave,  "  to  criticize  this  little  poem  on  the  ground 
of  the  unshepherdlike  or  unreal  character  of  some  images  suggested." 

No.  15.  The  Shepherdess's  Reply.  There  are  reasons  for  doubt- 
ing that  this  poem  was  written  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  It  was  first  pub- 
lished in  England'' s  Helicon,  in  1600.  "  In  all  known  copies  of  this 
edition,"  says  Dean  Trench,  "  '  Ignoto  '  has  been  pasted  over  W.  R.,  the 
original  signature  which  the  poem  bore.  This  may  have  arisen  from  a 
discovery  on  the  part  of  the  editor  that  the  poem  was  not  Raleigh's;  but 
also  may  be  explained  by  his  unwillingness  to  have  his  authorship  of  it 
declared;  so  that  there  is  here  nothing  decisive  one  way  or  the  other." 

Izaak  Walton,  writing  of  these  two  poems,  in  1653,  speaks  of  "that 
smooth  song  which  was  made  by  Kit  Marlowe,  now  at  least  fifty  years  ago. 
And  the  milkmaid's  mother  sang  an  answer  to  it  which  was  made  by  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  in  his  younger  days." 

No.  16.  Little  but  Long.  Written  about  the  year  1570.  Author 
unknown. 

1.  I.  This  is  a  favorite  expression  among  the  poets.  Marlowe  has  it, 
in  the  Jew  of  Malta.,  iv. :  — 

"  Love  me  little,  love  me  long;  let  music  rumble. 
Whilst  I  in  thy  incony  lap  do  tumble." 
It  is  the  subject  of  a  poem  by  Herrick,  and  a  novel  by  Charles  Reade.    It 
appears  also  in  Heywood's  Proverbs  (1546),  and  in  Bacon's  Formularies. 

No.  18.  Silent  Music.  This  beautiful  little  piece  was  published  in 
Campion's  Observations  on  the  Art  of  English  Poetry,  1602,  and  was 
written  as  illustration  of  the  position  taken  by  the  author  that  rhyme  is 
an  unnecessary  appendage  to  English  verse.  Trench  says :  "  Had  he 
offered  to  his  readers  many  lyrics  like  this,  he  might  have  done  much  more 
than  by  all  his  arguments  he  has  done  to  bring  them  to  his  opinion." 

No.  21.   My  Jean. 

1.     I.    airts.     Quarters  of  the  heavens. 

1.    5.   row.     Roll. 

1.  14.    shaw.     Copse,  grove. 


222  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

No.   22.    Mary  Morison.     This  is  one  of  Burns's  earlier  poems. 
1.    5.    stoure.     Dust,  labor. 
1.  13.   braw.     Brave. 

No.  23.  Highland  Mary.  This  poem  was  considered  by  Burns  to  be 
one  of  his  happiest  efforts.  Highland  Mary  is  supposed  by  some  to  have 
been  Mary  Campbell,  the  poet's  first  love.  It  is  more  likely,  however, 
that  Mary  Morison  is  meant  —  to  whom  also  the  songs  Will  ye  go  to  the 
Indies,  my  iMary  ?  and  To  Alary  in  Heaven,  were  addressed. 

braes.     Hill-slopes.  drumlie.     Troubled. 

birk.     Birch. 

No.  25.  The  Author's  Resolution  in  a  Sonnet.  "  I  have  tran- 
scribed this  song,"  says  T.  H.  Ward,  "  verbatim  ei  literati >n  (for  it  is  too 
precious  not  to  be  given  exactly  as  it  first  saw  the  light)  from  the  original 
edition  of  Fidelia,  in  which  it  first  appeared.  Mr.  W.  C.  Hazlitt,  in  his 
Handbook  to  English  Literature,  assumes  the  existence  of  an  edition  in 
161 7,  before  the  well-known  second  edition  in  the  latter  part  of  the  same 
year;  but  he  says:  'This  first  edition  is  supposed  to  have  been  privately 
printed.  No  copy  of  it  is  at  present  known.'  There  is,  however,  a  copy 
of  this  treasure  in  the  Bodleian  Library.  As  I  write,  the  title-page  of  it  is 
before  me  :  '  Fidelia,  London,  Printed  by  Nicholas  Okes,  161 5.'  " 

No.  26.  The  Soldier  Going  to  the  Field.  "  Davenant  is  scarcely 
known  at  all  except  by  his  strong-thoughted,  but  heavy,  poem  of  Gondi- 
hert;  and  very  little  known,  I  should  suppose,  by  that.  But  this  poem 
shows  that  in  another  vein,  that  of  graceful  half  play,  half  earnest,  few 
have  surpassed  him." —  Trench. 

No.  27.  Song  to  Chi.oris.  From  The  Mulberry  Garden,  a  play 
published  in  1668.  Sir  Charles  Sedley,  according  to  Macaulay,  was  "  one 
of  the  most  brilliant  and  profligate  wits  of  the  Restoration." 

No.  29.  To  Althea  —  from  Prison.  Althea  was  Lucy  Sacheverell, 
whom  the  poet  also  calls  Lucasta.  This  poem  was  w  rittcn  in  the  prison 
to  which  he  had  been  consigned  by  the  Long  Parliament  for  presenting  a 
petition  from  Kent.  The  two  following  poems  were  probably  addressed  to 
the  same  lady.  It  is  said  that  "  Lucasta,"  on  hearing  .n  false  report  of 
Colonel  Lovelace's  death  after  he  had  gone  to  the  wars,  married  another 
man.     Lovelace  died  in  great  poverty,  in  1658. 

No.  39.  Penthea's  Dying  Song.  Fiom  the  tragedy  of  The  Broken 
Heart,  printed  in  1633,  and  reckoned  one  of  the  finest  of  Ford's  dramatic 
works. 


Sonnets. 


Scorn  not  the  Sonnet :  Critic  yoti  have  frowned 
Mindless  of  its  just  honors ;  with  this  key 
Shakespeare  Jtnlocked  his  heart ;  the  melody 

Of  this  small  lute  gave  ease  to  Petrarch'' s  wound: 

A  thousajid  times  this  pipe  did  Tasso  sound ; 
With  it  Camohis  soothed  att  exile's  grief; 
The  so/met  glittered  like  a  gay  myrtle  leaf 

Amid  the  cypresses  with  which  Dante  crowned 
His  visionary  brow ;  a  glow-worm  lamp 

It  cheered  mild  Spenser,  called  frotn  Faery-land 
To  struggle  through  dark  ways  ;  and  when  a  damp 

Fell  rotend  the  path  of  Milton,  in  his  hand 
The  thing  became  a  trumpet ;  whence  he  blew 
Soul-animating  strains  —  alas,  too  few ! 

—  William  Wordsworth. 


DESCRIPTION   AND    PRAISE   OF    HIS    LOVE 
GERALDINE. 

From  Tuscan'  came  my  lady's  worthy  race ; 

Fair  Florence  was  some  time  their  ancient  seat ; 
The  western  isle,  whose  pleasant  shore  doth  face 

Wild  Camber's  cliffs,  did  give  her  lively  heat : 
Fostered  she  was  with  milk  of  Irish  breast ; 

Her  sire  an  earl ;  her  dame  of  princes'  blood : 
223 


224  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

From  tender  years,  in  Britain  she  doth  rest 

With  king's  child,  where  she  tasteth  costly  food. 

Hunsdon  did  first  present  her  to  my  een  : 
Bright  is  her  hue,  and  Geraldine  she  hight : 

Hampton  me  taught  to  wish  her  first  for  mine  : 
And  Windsor,  alas,  doth  chase  me  from  her  sight 

Her  beauty  of  kind,  her  virtues  from  above  ; 

Happy  is  he  that  can  obtain  her  love. 

—  Earl  of  Surrey. 


2. 


HERSELF   ALL   TREASURE. 

Ye  tradefull  Merchants,  that,  with  weary  toyle 

Do  seeke  most  pretious  things  to  make  your  gain  ; 

And  both  the  Indias  of  their  treasure  spoile  ; 
What  needeth  you  to  seeke  so  farre  in  vaine  } 
For  loe,  my  Love  doth  in  herselfe  containe 

All  this  world's  riches  that  may  farre  be  found  : 
If  Saphyres,  loe,  her  eics  be  Saphyres  plaine  ; 

If  Rubies,  loe,  her  lips  be  Rubies  sound ; 

If  Pearles,  her  teeth  be  Pearles,  both  pure  and  round  ; 
If  Ivorie,  her  forhead  Ivorie  weene ; 

If  Gold,  her  locks  are  finest  Gold  on  ground : 
If  Silver,  her  faire  hands  are  Silver  sheene  : 

But  that  which  fairest  is,  but  few  behold  — 

Her  mind  adorned  with  vertues  manifold. 

—  Edmund  Spenser. 


SONNETS.  225 


A   VISION    UPON   THE   FAERIE   QUEENE. 

Methought  I  saw  the  grave  where  Laura  lay. 

Within  that  temple  where  the  vestal  flame 
Was  wont  to  burn ;  and  passing  by  that  way 

To  see  that  buried  dust  of  living  fame, 
Whose  tomb  fair  Love  and  fairer  Virtue  kept, 

All  suddenly  I  saw  the  Faerie  Oueene  : 
At  whose  approach  the  soul  of  Petrarch  wept ; 

And  from  thenceforth  those  Graces  were  not  seen, 
For  they  this  Queen  attended  ;  in  whose  stead 

Oblivion  laid  him  down  on  Laura's  hearse. 
Hereat  the  hardest  stones  were  seen  to  bleed, 

And  groans  of  buried  ghosts  the  heavens  did  pierce, 
Where  Homer's  spright  did  tremble  all  for  grief, 
And  cursed  the  access  of  that  celestial  thief. 

—  Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 


ON    FIRST   LOOKING   INTO    CHAPMAN'S 
HOMER. 

Much  have  I  travelled  in  the  realms  of  gold. 
And  many  goodly  states  and  kingdoms  seen  ; 
Round  many  western  islands  have  I  been 

Which  bards  in  fealty  to  Apollo  hold. 

Oft  of  one  wide  expanse  had  I  been  told 

That  deep-browed  Homer  ruled  as  his  demesne  : 
Yet  did  I  never  breathe  its  pure  serene 

Till  I  heard  Chapman  speak  out  loud  and  bold  : 


226  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Then  felt  I  like  some  watcher  of  the  skies 
When  a  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken ; 

Or  like  stout  Cortez  when  with  eagle  eyes 
He  stared  at  the  Pacific  —  and  all  his  men 

Looked  at  each  other  with  a  wild  surmise  — 
Silent,  upon  a  peak  in  Darien. 


John  Keats. 


5- 
ON    HIS   BLINDNESS. 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent, 

Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 
And  that  one  talent,  which  is  death  to  hide, 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  he,  returning,  chide  ; 
•'  Doth  God  exact  day-labor,  light  denied  ? " 
I  fondly  ask :  but  Patience,  to  prevent 

That  murmur,  soon  replies,  "  God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work,  or  his  own  gifts ;  who  best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best :  his  state 

Is  kingly ;  thousands  at  his  bidding  speed. 
And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest ; 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 

—  John  Milton. 
♦ 

6. 

TO    MILTON. 

Milton  !  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour  ; 
Enirland  hath  need  of  thee  :  she  is  a  fen 


SONNETS.  227 

Of  Stagnant  waters  :  altar,  sword,  and  pen, 
Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower, 
Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 

Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfish  men : 

Oh  !  raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again ; 
And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power. 

Thy  soul  was  like  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart : 
Thou  hadst  a  voice  whose  sound  was  like  the  sea; 
Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free  ; 
So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way. 

In  cheerful  godliness  ;  and  yet  thy  heart 
The  lowliest  duties  on  itself  did  lay. 

—  William  Wordsworth. 


7- 
THE   PARTING. 

Since  there's  no  help,  come  let  us  kiss  and  part  — 

Nay,  I  have  done,  you  get  no  more  of  me ; 
And  I  am  glad,  yea,  glad  with  all  my  heart, 

That  thus  so  cleanly  I  myself  can  free ; 
Shake  hands  for  ever,  cancel  all  our  vows, 

And  when  we  meet  at  any  time  again, 
Be  it  not  seen  in  either  of  our  brows 

That  we  one  jot  of  former  love  retain. 
Now  at  the  last  gasp  of  love's  latest  breath. 

When,  his  pulse  failing,  passion  speechless  lies, 
When  faith  is  kneeling  by  his  bed  of  death. 

And  innocence  is  closing  up  his  eyes,  — 
Now  if  thou  would'st,  when  all  have  given  him  over, 
From  death  to  life  thou  might'st  him  yet  recover ! 

—  Michael  Drayton. 


228  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

8. 

EASTER   MORNING. 

Most  glorious  Lord  of  life,  that  on  this  day- 
Didst  make  thy  triumph  over  death  and  sin, 

And,  having  harrowed  hell,  didst  bring  away 
Captivity. thence  captive,  us  to  win  ; 

This  joyous  day,  dear  Lord,  with  joy  begin, 

And  grant  that  we,  for  whom  Thou  diddest  die. 

Being  with  thy  dear  blood  clean  washed  from  sin, 
May  live  for  ever  in  felicity  : 
And  that  thy  love  we  weighing  worthily, 

May  likewise  love  Thee  for  the  same  again  : 
And  for  thy  sake,  that  all  like  dear  didst  buy, 

With  love  may  one  another  entertain. 

So  let  us  love,  dear  Lord,  like  as  we  ought ; 

Love  is  the  lesson  which  the  Lord  us  taught. 

—  Edmund  Spenser. 


9- 

QUATUOR    NOVISSIMA. 

That  time  of  year  thou  mayst  in  nic  behold 
When  yellow  leaves,  or  none,  or  few,  do  hang 

Upon  those  boughs  which  shake  against  the  cold, 
Bare  ruin'd  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang. 

In  me  thou  sce'st  the  twilight  of  such  day 
As  after  sunset  fadeth  in  the  west, 


SONNETS.  229 

Which  by  and  by  black  night  doth  take  away, 
Death's  second  self,  that  seals  up  all  in  rest. 

In  me  thou  see'st  the  glowing  of  such  fire 
That  on  the  ashes  of  his  youth  doth  lie. 

As  the  death-bed  whereon  it  must  expire 

Consumed  with  that  which  it  was  nourish'd  by. 

This  thou  perceivest,  which  makes  thy  love  more  strong, 

To  love  that  well  which  thou  must  leave  ere  long. 

—  William  Shakespeare. 


A    LOVER'S    LETTERS. 

My  letters  !  all  dead  paper,  mute  and  white  ! 

And  yet  they  seem  alive  and  quivering 

Against  my  tremulous  hands  which  loose  the  string 
And  let  them  drop  down  on  my  knee  to-night. 
This  said,  —  he  wished  to  have  me  in  his  sight 

Once,  as  a  friend :  this  fixed  a  day  in  spring 

To  come  and  touch  my  hand  —  a  simple  thing. 
Yet  I  wept  for  it!  this  —  the  paper's  light  — 

Said,  Dear,  I  love  thee ;  and  I  sank  and  quailed 
As  if  God's  future  thundered  on  my  past. 

This  said,  I  am  thine  —  and  so  its  ink  has  paled 
With  lying  at  my  heart  that  beat  too  fast : 

And  this  —  O  Love,  thy  words  have  ill  availed, 
3f.  what  this  said,  I  dared  repeat  at  last ! 

—  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


230  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

II. 

LIFE'S    LESSONS. 

Lord,  with  what  care  hast  Thou  begirt  us  round ! 

Parents  first  season  us :  then  schoolmasters 
Deliver  us  to  laws ;  they  send  us  bound, 

To  rules  of  reason,  holy  messengers, 
Pulpits  and  Sundays,  sorrow  dogging  sin, 

Afflictions  sorted,  anguish  of  all  sizes, 
Fine  nets  and  stratagems  to  catch  us  in. 

Bibles  laid  open,  millions  of  surprises. 
Blessings  beforehand,  ties  of  gratefulness. 

The  sound  of  glory  ringing  in  our  ears ; 
Without,  our  shame ;  within,  our  consciences ; 

Angels  and  grace,  eternal  hopes  and  fears. 
Yet  all  these  fences  and  their  whole  array 
One  cunning  bosom-sin  blows  quite  away. 

—  George  Herbert. 


SAD   AND    SWEET. 

Sad  is  our  youth,  for  it  is  ever  going, 

Crumbling  away  beneath  our  very  feet ; 
Sad  is  our  life,  for  onward  it  is  flowing 

In  current  unperceived,  because  so  fleet ; 
Sad  are  our  hopes,  for  they  were  sweet  in  sowing  - 

But  tares,  self-sown,  have  overtopped  the  wheat : 
Sad  are  our  joys,  for  they  were  sweet  in  blowing  — 

And  still,  oh  still,  their  dying  breath  is  sweet ; 
And  sweet  is  youth,  although  it  hath  bereft  us 

Of  that  which  made  our  childhood  sweeter  still ; 


SONNETS.  231 

And  sweet  is  middle  life,  for  it  hath  left  us 

A  newer  good  to  cure  an  older  ill ; 
And  sweet  are  all  things  when  we  learn  to  prize  them 
Not  for  their  sake,  but  His  who  grants  them  or  denies 

^^^"^'  —Aubrey  De  Vere. 


13- 
TO   THE    MOON. 

With  how  sad  steps,  O  Moon,  thou  climb'st  the  skies ! 

How  silently,  and  with  how  wan  a  face ! 

What,  may  it  be  that  even  in  heavenly  place 
That  busy  archer  his  sharp  arrows  tries  ! 
Sure,  if  that  long-with-love-acquainted  eyes 

Can  judge  of  love,  thou  feel'st  a  lover's  case, 

I  read  it  in  thy  looks  ;  thy  languisht  grace, 
To  me,  that  feel  the  like,  thy  state  descries. 

Then,  even  of  fellowship,  O  Moon,  tell  me. 
Is  constant  love  deem'd  there  but  want  of  wit } 

Are  beauties  there  as  proud  as  here  they  be  } 
Do  they  above  love  to  be  lov'd,  and  yet 

Those  lovers  scorn  whom  that  love  doth  possess  ? 

Do  they  call  virtue  there  ungratefulness .-' 

—  Sir  Philip  Sidney. 


14. 

THE   COMMON   GRAVE. 

Last  night  beneath  the  foreign  stars  I  stood, 

And  saw  the  thoughts  of  those  at  home  go  by 
To  the  great  grave  upon  the  hill  of  blood. 


232  CHOICE   EXGLISH  LYRICS. 

Upon  the  darkness  they  went  visibly, 
Each  in  the  vesture  of  its  own  distress. 

Among  them  there  came  One,  frail  as  a  sigh, 
And  like  a  creature  of  the  wilderness 

Dug  with  her  bleeding  hands.     She  neither  cried 
Nor  wept ;  nor  did  she  see  the  many  stark 

And  dead  that  lay  unburied  at  her  side. 
All  night  she  toiled  ;  and  at  that  time  of  dawn, 
When  Day  and  Night  do  change  their  More  and  Less, 
And  Day  is  More,  I  saw  the  melting  Dark 
Stir  to  the  last,  and  knew  she  labored  on. 

—  Sydney  Dobell. 


15- 

TO    HIS    LUTE. 

My  lute,  be  as  thou  wert  when  thou  didst  grow 
With  thy  green  mother  in  some  shady  grove. 
When  immelodious  winds  but  made  thee  move. 

And  birds  their  ramage  did  on  thee  bestow. 

Since  that  dear  Voice  which  did  thy  sounds  approve, 

Which  wont  in  such  harmonious  strains  to  flow. 
Is  reft  from  Earth  to  tune  those  spheres  above, 

What  art  thou  but  a  harbinger  of  woe  .-' 

Thy  pleasing  notes  be  pleasing  notes  no  more, 

Hut  orphans'  wailings  to  the  fainting  ear ; 

Each  stroke  a  sigh,  each  sound  draws  forth  a  tear ; 
Eor  which  be  silent  as  in  woods  before  : 

Or  if  that  any  hand  to  touch  thee  deign. 

Like  widow'd  turtle  still  her  loss  complain. 

—  William  Dkummond. 


SONNETS.  233 

i6. 

RESIGNATION   AND    DESPAIR. 

As  due  by  many  titles,  I  resign 

Myself  to  Thee,  O  God.     First  I  was  made 
By  Thee  and  for  Thee ;  and,  when  I  was  decayed, 
Thy  blood  bought  that,  the  which  before  was  thine : 
I  am  thy  son,  made  with  Thyself  to  shine ; 

Thy  servant,  whose  pains  Thou  hast  still  repaid, 
Thy  sheep,  thine  image  ;  and,  till  I  betrayed 
Myself,  a  temple  of  thy  Spirit  divine. 

Why  doth  the  devil  then  usurp  on  me  .'' 
Why  doth  he  steal,  nay,  ravish  that's  thy  right .-' 
Except  Thou  rise,  and  for  thine  own  work  fight, 

Oh  !  I  shall  soon  despair,  when  I  shall  see 
That  Thou  lov'st  mankind  well,  yet  wilt  not  choose  me 
And  Satan  hates  me,  yet  is  loth  to  lose  me. 

—  John  Donne. 


17- 
LAST  SONNET. 

Bright  star !  would  I  were  steadfast  as  thou  art 
Not  in  lone  splendor  hung  aloft  the  night, 

And  watching,  with  eternal  lids  apart, 
Like  Nature's  patient  sleepless  Eremite, 

The  moving  waters  at  their  priestlike  task 
Of  pure  ablution  round  earth's  human  shores, 


234  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Or  gazing  on  the  new  soft  fallen  mask 

Of  snow  upon  the  mountains  and  the  moors. — 

No  —  yet  still  steadfast,  still  unchangeable, 
Pillowed  upon  my  fair  love's  ripening  breast, 

To  feel  for  ever  its  soft  fall  and  swell, 
Awake  for  ever  in  a  sweet  unrest ; 

Still,  still  to  hear  her  tender-taken  breath. 

And  so  live  ever  —  or  else  swoon  to  death. 

—  John  Keats. 


1 8. 
RETIREMENT. 

Give  me  a  cottage  on  some  Cambrian  wild 

Where,  far  from  cities,  I  may  spend  my  days, 
And  by  the  beauties  of  the  scene  beguil'd, 

May  pity  man's  pursuits,  and  shun  his  ways, 
While  on  the  rock  I  mark  the  browsing  goat. 

List  to  the  mountain-torrent's  distant  noise, 
Or  the  hoarse  bittern's  solitary  note, 

I  shall  not  want  the  world's  delusive  joys  ; 
But  with  my  little  scrip,  my  book,  my  lyre. 

Shall  think  my  lot  complete,  nor  covet  more ; 
And  when,  with  time,  shall  wane  the  vital  fire, 

I'll  raise  my  pillow  on  the  desert  shore. 
And  lay  me  down  to  rest  where  the  wild  wave 
Shall  make  sweet  music  o'er  my  lonely  grave. 

—  Henrv  KuiKE  White. 


SONNETS.  235 

19. 

EVENING. 

Already  evening  !  In  the  duskiest  nook 

Of  yon  dusk  corner,  under  the  Death's-head, 
Between  the  alembics,  thrust  this  legended 

And  iron-bound,  and  melancholy  book ; 

For  I  will  read  no  longer.     The  loud  brook 

Shelves  his  sharp  light  up  shallow  banks  thin-spread  ; 
The  slumbrous  west  grows  slowly  red,  and  red : 

Up  from  the  ripen'd  corn  her  silver  hook 
The  moon  is  lifting :  and  deliciously 

Along  the  warm  blue  hills  the  day  declines. 
The  first  star  brightens  while  she  waits  for  me. 
And  round  her  swelling  heart  the  zone  grows  tight : 

Musing,  half-sad,  in  her  soft  hair  she  twines 

The  white  rose,  whispering  "He  will  come  to-night!  " 
—  Owen  Meredith  (Lord  Lytton). 


TWILIGHT. 

It  is  the  hour  when  from  the  boughs 
The  nightingale's  high  note  is  heard  ; 

It  is  the  hour  when  lovers'  vows 

Seem  sweet  in  every  whispered  word ; 

And  gentle  winds,  and  waters  near, 

Make  music  to  the  lonely  ear. 


236  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Each  flower  the  dews  have  lightly  wet, 

And  in  the  sky  the  stars  are  met, 

And  on  the  wave  is  deeper  blue, 

And  on  the  leaf  a  browner  hue. 

And  in  the  heaven  that  clear  obscure, 

So  softly  dark,  and  darkly  pure. 

Which  follows  the  decline  of  day, 

As  twilight  melts  beneath  the  moon  away. 

—  Lord  Byron. 


21. 


ILLUSIONS. 

A  GOOD  that  never  satisfies  the  mind, 
A  beauty  fading  like  the  April  flow'rs, 
A  sweet  with  floods  of  gall,  that  run  combin'd, 
A  pleasure  passing  ere  in  thought  made  ours. 
An  honour  that  more  fickle  is  than  wind, 
A  glory  at  opinion's  frown  that  low'rs, 
A  treasury  which  bankrupt  time  devours, 
A  knowledge  than  grave  ignorance  more  blind, 
A  vain  delight  our  equals  to  command, 
A  style  of  greatness,  in  effect  a  dream, 
A  swelling  thought  of  holding  sea  and  land, 
A  servile  lot,  deck'd  with  a  pomj:)ous  name. 
Are  the  strange  ends  we  toil  for  here  below, 
Till  wisest  death  make  us  our  errors  know. 

—  William  Drummond. 


SONNETS.  237 


SWEET   AND    BITTER. 

Sweet  is  the  rose,  but  grows  upon  a  brere ; 

Sweet  is  the  juniper,  but  sharp  his  bough  ; 
Sweet  is  the  eglantine,  but  pricketh  near ; 

Sweet  is  the  firbloom,  but  his  branches  rough ; 

Sweet  is  the  Cyprus,  but  his  rind  is  tough ; 
Sweet  is  the  nut,  but  bitter  is  his  pill ; 

Sweet  is  the  broom  flower,  but  yet  sour  enough ; 
And  sweet  is  moly,  but  his  root  is  ill ; 
So,  every  sweet  with  sour  is  tempered  still. 

That  maketh  it  be  coveted  the  more : 
For  easy  things  that  may  be  got  at  will 

Most  sorts  of  men  do  set  but  little  store. 
Why  then  should  I  account  of  little  pain. 
That  endless  pleasure  shall  unto  me  gain .? 

—  Edmund  Spenser. 


23. 

THE   NILE. 

It  flows  through  old  hushed  Egypt  and  its  sands, 

Like  some  grave  mighty  thought  threading  a  dream  • 
And  times  and  things,  as  in  that  vision,  seem 
Keeping  along  it  their  eternal  stands,  — 
Caves,  pillars,  pyramids,  the  shepherd  bands 

That   roamed  through  the   young   world,   the  glory 
extreme 


238  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Of  high  Sesostris,  and  that  southern  beam, 
The   laughing    queen   that    caught    the    world's    great 
hands. 

Then  comes  a  mightier  silence,  stern  and  strong, 
As  of  a  world  left  empty  of  its  throng, 

And  the  void  weighs  on  us ;  and  then  we  wake, 
And  hear  the  fruitful  stream  lapsing  along 

Twixt  villages,  and  think  how  we  shall  take 

Our  own  calm  journey  on  for  human  sake. 

—  Leigh  Hunt. 


24. 
IN   SAN    LORENZO. 

Is  thine  hour  come  to  wake,  O  slumbering  Night  ? 

Hath  not  the  Dawn  a  message  in  thine  ear  ? 

Though  thou  be  stone  and  sleep,  yet  shalt  thou  hear 
When  the  word  falls  from  heaven  —  Let  there  be  Light. 
Thou  knowest  we  would  not  do  thee  the  despite 

To  wake  thee  while  the  old  sorrow  and  shame  were 
near. 

We  spake  not  loud  for  thy  sake,  and  for  fear 
Lest  thou  should'st  lose  the  rest  that  was  thy  right, 
The  blessing  given  thee  that  was  thine  alone. 
The  happiness  to  sleep  and  to  be  stone. 

Yea,  we  kept  silence  of  thee  for  thy  sake. 
Albeit  we  knew  thee  alive,  and  left  with  thee 
The  great  good  gift  to  feel  not  nor  to  see ; 

But  will  not  yet  thine  Angel  bid  thee  wake  ? 

—  A.  C.  Swinburne. 


SONNETS.  239 

25- 

HER   EYES. 

Long-while  I  sought  to  what  I  might  compare 

Those  powerful  eyes,  which  Hghten  my  dark  spright : 
Yet  found  I  nought  on  earth,  to  which  I  dare 

Resemble  th'image  of  their  goodly  light. 

Not  to  the  Sun ;  for  they  do  shine  by  night ; 
Nor  to  the  Moon  ;  for  they  are  changed  never  ; 

Nor  to  the  Stars  ;  for  they  have  purer  sight ; 
Nor  to  the  Fire  ;  for  they  consume  not  never ; 
Nor  to  the  Lightning ;  for  they  still  persever  ; 

Nor  to  the  Diamond ;  for  they  are  more  tender; 
Nor  unto  Crystal ;  for  naught  may  them  sever ; 

Nor  unto  Glasse ;  such  baseness  might  offend  her. 
Then  to  the  Maker's  self  they  likest  be. 
Whose  light  doth  lighten  all  that  here  we  see. 

— Edmund  Spenser. 


26. 

CUPID   AND   CAMPASPE. 

Cupid  and  my  Campaspe  play'd 

At  cards  for  kisses  ;  Cupid  paid  : 

He  stakes  his  quiver,  bow,  and  arrows. 

His  mother's  doves,  and  team  of  sparrows  ; 

Loses  them  too ;  then  down  he  throws 

The  coral  of  his  lip,  the  rose 


240  CHOICE   ENGLISH   LYRICS. 

Growing  on's  cheek  (but  none  knows  how); 
With  these,  the  crystal  of  his  brow, 
And  then  the  dimple  on  his  chin ; 
All  these  did  my  Campaspe  win : 
At  last  he  set  her  both  his  eyes  — 
She  won,  and  Cupid  blind  did  rise. 

O  Love  !  has  she  done  this  to  thee  ? 

What  shall,  alas !  become  of  me  ? 

—  John  Lyly. 


27. 

THE   GRASSHOPPER   AND   THE   CRICKET. 

Green  little  vaulter  on  the  sunny  grass, 

Catching  your  heart  up  at  the  feel  of  June, 

Sole  voice  that's  heard  amidst  the  lazy  noon. 

When  ev'n  the  bees  lag  at  the  summoning  brass ; 

And  you,  warm  little  housekeeper,  who  class 

With  those  who  think  the  candles  come  too  soon, 

Loving  the  fire,  and  with  your  tricksome  tune 

Nick  the  glad  silent  moments  as  they  pass ; 

O  sweet  and  tiny  cousins,  that  belong. 

One  to  the  fields,  the  other  to  the  hearth, 

Both  have  your  sunshine  ;  both,  though  small,  are  strong 

At  your  clear  hearts,  and  both  seem  given  to  earth 

To  sing  in  thoughtful  ears  this  natural  song. 

In  doors  and  out,  summer  and  winter,  mirth. 

—  Leigh  Hunt. 


SONNETS.  241 

28. 

FANCY   IN    NUBIBUS. 

Oh,  it  is  pleasant,  with  a  heart  at  ease, 

Just  after  sunset,  or  by  moonhght  skies. 

To  make  the  shifting  clouds  be  what  you  please. 

Or  let  the  easily-persuaded  eyes 

Own  each  quaint  likeness  issuing  from  the  mould 

Of  a  friend's  fancy ;  or,  with  head  bent  low, 

And  cheek  aslant,  see  rivers  flow  of  gold, 

'Twixt  crimson  banks ;  and  then  a  traveller  go 

From  mount  to  mount,    through  Cloudland,  gorgeous 

land! 
Or,  listening  to  the  tide  with  closed  sight. 
Be  that  blind  Bard,  who  on  the  Chian  strand, 
By  those  deep  sounds  possessed  with  inward  light, 
Beheld  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssee 
Rise  to  the  swelling  of  the  voiceful  sea. 

—  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


NOTES. 


No.  3.  A  Vision  upon  the  Faerie  Queene.  This  is  the  first  of  the 
commendatory  verses  prefixed  to  the  first  edition  of  T7te  Faerie  Queene. 
—  "Two  persons,  I  have  no  doubt,  were  included  in  the  magnificent  flat- 
tery of  this  sonnet  —  Queen  EHzabeth  as  well  as  Spenser;  for  it  was  she 
whom  the  poet  expressly  imaged  in  his  Queen  of  Fairyland;  and  Sir  W. 
Raleigh  was  not  the  man  to  let  the  occasion  pass  for  extolling  that  great 
woman,  their  joint  mistress.  His  abolition  of  Laura,  Petrarch,  and  Homer 
all  in  a  lump,  in  honour  of  his  friend  Spenser  is  in  the  highest  style  of  his 
wilful  and  somewhat  domineering  genius;  but  everything  in  the  poem  is 
as  grandly  as  it  is  summarily  done."  —  Leigh  Hunt. 
Q 


242  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

No.  15.    To  HIS  Lute.     This  sonnet  was  later  expanded   by  Shelley  in 
his  beautiful  poem  entitled  To  a  Lady,  with  a  Guitar  (see  page  336). 
ramage.    Wood-song. 
harbinger.    Messenger,  herald. 
turtle.   Turtle  dove. 

No.  22.     Sweet  and  Bitter. 

brere.    Briar.  eglantine.    Hawthorn. 

moly.    A  herb  with  a  black  root  and  white  blossoms,  mentioned  in 
the  Odyssey. 

No.  23.  The  Nile.  One  of  the  finest  of  Leigh  Hunt's  poems. 
Sisostris.  One  of  the  greatest  of  Egypt's  ancient  rulers.  A  name  given 
to  the  third  king  of  the  nineteenth  dynasty,  2300  u.c.  The  laughing 
queen.     Cleopatra. 

No.  24.  In  San  Lorenzo.  Line  i.  "0  slumberiitg  Night.'''  The 
famous  statue  of  sleeping  Night,  on  the  tomb  of  Giuliano  de'  Medici,  by 
Michael  Angelo,  in  the  Medici  Chapel  of  San  Lorenzo,  Florence.  The 
poet  supposes  the  dawn  of  Italian  liberty  to  be  at  hand  as  indeed  it  was, 
when  this  fine  sonnet  was  written. 

No.  26.  Cupid  and  Campaspe.  From  the  drama  entitled  Alexander 
and  Campaspe,^M!oX\%\\QA.  in  1584.  "It  is  full,"  says  Hazlitt,  "  of  sweet- 
ness and  point,  of  Attic  salt  and  the  honey  of  Hymettus." 


%mcB  of  Xife. 


oJ»<c 


T/te  poefs  viission  is  not  to  disguise  men  fro/n  themselves,  but  to 
reveal  to  thetn  their  own  nature,  and  make  them  better  acquainted 
with  the  world  around  them.  True  poetry  is  the  retnembrance  of 
love,  the  embodiment  in  words  of  the  happiest  and  holiest  moments 
of  life,  of  the  noblest  thoughts  of  tnan,  of  the  greatest  deeds  of  the 
past.  —  Professor  Jowett. 


I. 

MAN'S   MORTALITY. 

Like  as  the  damask  rose  you  see, 
Or  like  the  blossom  on  the  tree, 
Or  like  the  dainty  flower  in  May, 
Or  like  the  morning  of  the  day, 
Or  like  the  sun,  or  like  the  shade, 
Or  like  the  gourd  which  Jonas  had  — 
E'en  such  is  man ;  whose  thread  is  spun, 
Drawn  out,  and  cut,  and  so  is  done. 
The  rose  withers  ;  the  blossom  blasteth  ; 
The  flower  fades  ;  the  morning  hasteth  ; 
The  sun  sets,  the  shadow  flies  ; 
The  gourd  consumes  ;  and  man  he  dies  ! 
243 


244  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Like  to  the  grass  that's  newly  sprung, 

Or  like  a  tale  that's  new  begun, 

Or  like  the  bird  that's  here  to-day, 

Or  like  the  pearled  dew  of  May, 

Or  like  an  hour,  or  like  a  span, 

Or  like  the  singing  of  a  swan  — 

E'en  such  is  man  ;  who  lives  by  breath, 

Is  here,  now  there,  in  life  and  death. 

The  grass  withers,  the  tale  is  ended  ; 

The  bird  is  flown,  the  dew's  ascended ; 

The  hour  is  short,  the  span  is  long ; 

The  swan's  near  death  ;  man's  life  is  done  ! 

—  Simon  Wastell. 


2. 


THE   LIFE   OF   MAN. 

Like  to  the  falling  of  a  star, 
Or  as  the  flights  of  eagles  are, 
Or  like  the  fresh  spring's  gaudy  hue, 
Or  silver  drops  of  morning  dew. 
Or  like  a  wind  that  chafes  the  flood. 
Or  bubbles  which  on  water  stood : 
Even  such  is  man,  whose  borrowed  light 
Is  straight  called  in  and  paid  to  night : 
The  wind  blows  out ;  the  bubble  dies  ; 
The  spring  intomb'd  in  autumn  lies ; 
The  dew's  dry'd  up ;  the  star  is  shot; 
The  flight  is  past ;  and  man  forgot ! 

—  Francis  Beaumont. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  245 

3- 

LIFE   AND   THE   FLOWERS. 

I  MADE  a  posy  while  the  day  ran  by : 
"  Here  will  I  smell  my  remnant  out,  and  tie 
My  life  within  this  band." 

But  Time  did  beckon  to  the  flowers,  and  they 
By  noon  most  cunningly  did  steal  away, 
And  withered  in  my  hand. 

My  hand  was  next  to  them,  and  then  my  heart. 
I  took,  without  more  thinking,  in  good  part 
Time's  gentle  admonition  ; 

Who  did  so  sweetly  death's  sad  taste  convey, 
Making  my  mind  to  smell  my  fatal  day. 
Yet  sugaring  the  suspicion. 

Farewell,  dear  flow'rs  !  sweetly  your  time  ye  spent ; 
Fit,  while  ye  lived,  for  smell  or  ornament ; 
And  after  death,  for  cures. 

I  follow  straight,  without  complaints  or  grief ; 
Since,  if  my  scent  be  good,  I  care  not  if 
It  be  as  short  as  yours. 

—  George  Herbert. 


246  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS, 

THE   RETREAT. 

Happy  those  early  days,  when  I 
Shin'd  in  my  angel-infancy  ! 
Before  I  understood  this  place 
Appointed  for  my  second  race, 
Or  taught  my  soul  to  fancy  ought 
But  a  white,  celestial  thought ; 
When  yet  I  had  not  walk'd  above 
A  mile  or  two,  from  my  first  love. 
And  looking  back  —  at  that  short  space  — 
Gould  see  a  glimpse  of  His  bright  face  ; 
When  on  some  gilded  cloud  or  flower 
My  gazing  soul  would  dwell  an  hour. 
And  in  those  weaker  glories  spy 
Some  shadows  of  eternity  ; 
Before  I  taught  my  tongue  to  wound 
My  conscience  with  a  sinful  sound, 
Or  had  the  black  art  to  dispense, 
A  sev'ral  sin  to  ev'ry  sense. 
But  felt  through  all  this  fleshly  dress 
Bright  shoots  of  everlastingness. 
Oh  how  I  long  to  travel  back. 
And  tread  again  that  ancient  track  ! 
That  I  might  once  more  reach  that  plain, 
Where  first  I  left  my  glorious  train ; 
From  whence  th'  enlightened  spirit  sees 
That  shady  city  of  palm  trees. 
But  ah  !  my  soul  with  too  much  stay 
Is  drunk,  and  staggers  in  the  way ! 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  247 

Some  men  a  forward  motion  love, 
But  I  by  backward  steps  will  move ; 
And  when  this  dust  falls  to  the  urn, 
Into  that  state  I  came,  return. 

—  Henry  Vaughan. 


5- 
THE   PIPER. 

Piping  down  the  valleys  wild, 
Piping  songs  of  pleasant  glee, 
On  a  cloud  I  saw  a  child. 
And  he  laughing  said  to  me :  — 

"  Pipe  a  song  about  a  lamb :  " 
So  I  piped  with  merry  cheer. 
"  Piper,  pipe  that  song  again  :  " 
So  I  piped ;  he  wept  to  hear. 

"  Drop  thy  pipe,  thy  happy  pipe, 
Sing  thy  songs  of  happy  cheer  : " 
So  I  sung  the  same  again, 
While  he  wept  with  joy  to  hear. 

"  Piper,  sit  thee  down  and  write 
In  a  book  that  all  may  read  " — 
So  he  vanished  from  my  sight ; 
And  I  plucked  a  hollow  reed, 

And  I  made  a  rural  pen. 
And  I  stained  the  water  clear, 
And  I  wrote  my  happy  songs, 
Every  child  may  joy  to  hear. 

—  William  Blake. 


248  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

6. 
THE   ROMANCE   OF   THE   SWAN'S    NEST. 

"So  tlie  dreams  depart, 
So  the  fadini;  phantoms  flee, 
And  the  sharp  reality 
Now  must  act  its  part." 

—  Westwood'S  Beads  from  a  Rosary. 


Little  Ellie  sits  alone 

'Mid  the  beeches  of  a  meadow, 
By  a  stream-side  on  the  grass, 
And  the  trees  are  showering  down 
Doubles  of  their  leaves  in  shadow, 
On  her  shining  hair  and  face. 


She  has  thrown  her  bonnet  by, 

And  her  feet  she  has  been  dipping 
In  the  shallow  water's  flow  ; 
Now  she  holds  them  nakedly 

In  her  hands,  all  sleek  and  dripping, 
While  she  rocketh  to  and  fro. 

III. 

Little  Ellie  sits  alone. 

And  the  smile  she  softly  uses 
Fills  the  silence  like  a  speech. 
While  she  thinks  what  shall  be  done, 
And  the  sweetest  pleasure  chooses 
For  her  future  within  reach. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  249 


IV. 


Little  Ellie  in  her  smile 

Chooses,  "  I  will  have  a  lover, 
Riding  on  a  steed  of  steeds : 
He  shall  love  me  without  guile, 
And  to  him  I  will  discover 

The  swan's  nest  among  the  reeds. 


"  And  the  steed  shall  be  red-roan. 
And  the  lover  shall  be  noble. 

With  an  eye  that  takes  the  breath. 
And  the  lute  he  plays  upon 
Shall  strike  ladies  into  trouble, 

As  his  sword  strikes  men  to  death. 

VI. 

"  And  the  steed  it  shall  be  shod 
All  in  silver,  housed  in  azure ; 

And  the  mane  shall  swim  the  wind  ; 
And  the  hoofs  along  the  sod 

Shall  flash  onward,  and  keep  measure, 
Till  the  shepherds  look  behind. 

VII. 

"  But  my  lover  will  not  prize 
All  the  glory  that  he  rides  in, 
When  he  gazes  in  my  face. 
He  will  say,  '  O  Love,  thine  eyes 
Build  the  shrine  my  soul  abides  in. 
And  I  kneel  here  for  thy  grace ! ' 


250  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

VIII. 

"Then,  ay,  then  he  shall  kneel  low, 
With  the  red-roan  steed  anear  him, 
Which  shall  seem  to  understand. 
Till  I  answer,  '  Rise  and  go  ! 

For  the  world  must  love  and  fear  him 
Whom  I  gift  with  heart  and  hand. 

IX. 

"  Then  he  will  arise  so  pale, 
I  shall  feel  my  own  lips  tremble 
With  2i.yes  I  must  not  say : 
Nathless  maiden-brave,  '  Farewell,' 
I  will  utter,  and  dissemble  — 
'  Light  to-morrow  with  to-day  ! ' 


"  Then  he'll  ride  among  the  hills 
To  the  wide  world  past  the  river, 
There  to  put  away  all  wrong. 
To  make  straight  distorted  wills, 
And  to  empty  the  broad  quiver 
Which  the  wicked  bear  along, 

XI. 

"  Three  times  shall  a  young  foot-page 

Swim  the  stream,  and  climb  the  mountain. 
And  kneel  down  beside  my  feet : 
'  Lo  !  my  master  sends  this  gage. 
Lady,  for  thy  pity's  counting. 
What  wilt  thou  exchange  for  it .'' ' 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  251 


XII. 


"  And  the  first  time  I  will  send 
A  white  rosebud  for  a  guerdon  : 
And  the  second  time,  a  glove ; 
But  the  third  time  I  may  bend 

From  my  pride,  and  answer, —  '  Pardon, 
If  he  comes  to  take  my  love.' 

XIII. 

"  Then  the  young  foot-page  will  run  ; 
Then  my  lover  will  ride  faster, 
Till  he  kneeleth  at  my  knee  : 
*  I  am  a  duke's  eldest  son. 

Thousand  serfs  do  call  me  master, 
But,  O  Love,  I  love  but  thee  ! ' 

XIV. 

"  He  will  kiss  me  on  the  mouth 
Then,  and  lead  me  as  a  lover 

Through  the  crowds  that  praise  his  deeds ; 
And,  when  soul-tied  by  one  troth. 
Unto  ///;;/  I  will  discover 

That  swan's  nest  among  the  reeds." 

XV. 

Little  Ellie,  with  her  smile 
Not  yet  ended,  rose  up  gayly. 

Tied  the  bonnet,  donned  the  shoe, 
And  went  homeward,  round  a  mile, 
Just  to  see,  as  she  did  daily, 

What  more  eggs  were  with  the  two. 


252  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

XVI. 

Pushing  through  the  elm-tree  copse, 
Winding  up  the  stream,  Hght-hearted, 
Where  the  osier  pathway  leads. 
Past  the  boughs  she  stoops,  and  stops. 
Lo,  the  wild  swan  had  deserted, 
And  a  rat  had  gnawed  the  reeds ! 

XVII. 

Ellie  went  home  sad  and  slow. 
If  she  found  the  lover  ever, 

With  his  red-roan  steed  of  steeds, 
Sooth  I  know  not ;  but  I  know 

She  could  never  show  him  — ■  never, 
That  swan's  nest  among  the  reeds. 

—  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


7- 
A  BOY'S  SONG. 

Where  the  pools  are  bright  and  deep, 
Where  the  grey  trout  lies  asleep, 
Up  the  river  and  o'er  the  lea, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  blackbird  sings  the  latest. 
Where  the  hawthorn  blooms  the  sweetest, 
Where  the  nestlings  chirp  and  flee. 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  253 

Where  the  mowers  mow  the  cleanest, 
Where  the  hay  Hes  thick  and  greenest ; 
There  to  trace  the  homeward  bee, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  hazel  bank  is  steepest, 
Where  the  shadow  falls  the  deepest, 
Where  the  clustering  nuts  fall  free, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Why  the  boys  should  drive  away 
Little  maidens  from  their  play, 
Or  love  to  banter  and  fight  so  well. 
That's  the  thing  I  never  could  tell. 

But  this  I  know,  I  love  to  play. 
Through  the  meadow,  among  the  hay : 
Up  the  water  and  o'er  the  lea, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

—  James  Hogg. 


8. 
YOUTH    AND   AGE. 

When  all  the  world  is  young,  lad, 

And  all  the  trees  are  green ; 
And  every  goose  a  swan,  lad. 

And  every  lass  a  queen ; 
Then  hey  for  boot  and  horse,  lad, 

And  round  the  world  away  ; 
Young  blood  must  have  its  course,  lad, 

And  every  dog  his  day. 


254  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

When  all  the  world  is  old,  lad, 

And  all  the  trees  are  brown ; 
And  all  the  sport  is  stale,  lad, 

And  all  the  wheels  run  down ; 
Creep  home,  and  take  your  place  there, 

The  spent  and  maimed  among : 
God  grant  you  find  one  face  there. 

You  loved  when  all  was  young. 

—  Charles  Kingsley. 


9- 
THE   SPRING   JOURNEY. 

Oh,  green  was  the  corn  as  I  rode  on  my  way, 
And  bright  were  the  dews  on  the  blossoms  of  May, 
And  dark  was  the  sycamore's  shade  to  behold, 
And  the  oak's  tender  leaf  was  of  emerald  and  gold. 

The  thrush  from  his  holly,  the  lark  from  his  cloud, 
Their  chorus  of  rapture  sang  jovial  and  loud : 
From  the  soft  vernal  sky  to  the  soft  grassy  ground. 
There  was  beauty  above  me,  beneath,  and  around. 

The  mild  southern  breeze  brought  a  shower  from  the  hill; 

And  yet,  though  it  left  me  all  dripping  and  chill, 

I  felt  a  new  pleasure  as  onward  I  sped. 

To  gaze  where  the  rainbow  gleamed  broad  overhead. 

Oh,  such  be  life's  journey,  and  such  be  our  skill, 

To  lose  in  its  blessings  the  sense  of  its  ills  ; 

Through   sunshine  and   shower    may  our   progress  be 

even, 
And  our  tears  add  a  charm  to  the  prospect  of  heaven  ! 

—  Reginald  Heber. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  255 

10. 

OVER   THE    HILL. 

"  Traveller,  what  lies  over  the  hill  ? 

Traveller,  tell  to  me  : 
I  am  only  a  child  —  from  the  window-sill 

Over  I  cannot  see." 

"  Child,  there's  a  valley  over  there, 

Pretty  and  wooded  and  shy  ; 
And  a  little  brook  that  says,  '  Take  care, 

Or  I'll  drown  you  by-and-by.'  " 

"  And  what  comes  next  ? "     "  A  little  town, 

And  a  towering  hill  again  ; 
More  hills  and  valleys,  up  and  down. 

And  a  river  now  and  then." 

"  And  what  comes  next  ?  "     "A  lonely  moor 

Without  a  beaten  way  ; 
And  grey  clouds  sailing  slow  before 

A  wind  that  will  not  stay." 

"  And  then  ?  "     "  Dark  rocks  and  yellow  sand. 

And  a  moaning  sea  beside." 
"  And  then  }  "     "  More  sea,  more  sea,  more  land, 

And  rivers  deep  and  wide." 

"  And  then  }  "     "  Oh,  rock  and  mountain  and  vale, 

Rivers  and  fields  and  men. 
Over  and  over  —  a  weary  tale  — 

And  round  to  your  home  again." 


25r.  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

"  And  is  that  all  ?     Have  you  told  me  the  best  ?  " 

"  No,  neither  the  best  nor  the  end. 
On  summer  eves,  away  in  the  west, 

You  will  see  a  stair  ascend, 

"  Built  of  all  colors  of  lovely  stones, 

A  stair  up  into  the  sky  — 
Where  no  one  is  weary,  and  no  one  moans, 

Or  wants  to  be  laid  by." 

"I  will  go."     "  But  the  steps  are  very  steep ; 

If  you  would  climb  up  there. 
You  must  lie  at  the  foot,  as  still  as  sleep, 

A  very  step  of  the  stair." 

—  George  Macdonald. 


II. 

YOUTH    AND   AGE. 

Verse,  a  breeze  'mid  blossoms  straying, 
Where  Hope  clung  feeding,  like  a  bee  — 
Both  were  mine !     Life  went  a-Maying 
With  Nature,  Hope,  and  Poesy, 
When  I  was  young  ! 
When  I  was  young  }  —  Ah,  wof  ul  when  ! 
Ah,  for  the  change  'twixt  Now  and  Then ! 
This  breathing  house  not  built  with  hands, 
This  body  that  does  me  grievous  wrong. 
O'er  aery  cliffs  and  glittering  sands 
How  lightly  then  it  flash'd  along  : 
Like  those  trim  skiffs,  unknown  of  yore, 
On  winding  lakes  and  rivers  wide. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  2S1 

That  ask  no  aid  of  sail  or  oar, 
That  fear  no  spite  of  wind  or  tide ! 
Nought  cared  this  body  for  wind  or  weather 
When  Youth  and  I  Hved  in't  together. 

Flowers  are  lovely  ;  Love  is  flower-like ; 
Friendship  is  a  sheltering  tree ; 
Oh,  the  joys,  that  came  down  shower-like, 
Of  Friendship,  Love,  and  Liberty, 
Ere  I  was  old  ! 

Ere  I  was  old  ?     Ah  woful  Ere, 

Which  tells  me,  Youth's  no  longer  here! 

0  Youth  !  for  years  so  many  and  sweet 
'Tis  known  that  thou  and  I  were  one; 
I'll  think  it  but  a  fond  conceit  — 

It  cannot  be,  that  thou  art  gone  ! 
Thy  vesper-bell  hath  not  yet  toll'd  :  — 
And  thou  wert  aye  a  masker  bold  ! 
What  strange  disguise  hast  now  put  on 
To  make  believe  that  thou  art  gone  ? 

1  see  these  locks  in  silvery  slips, 
This  drooping  gait,  this  alter'd  size : 
But  Springtide  blossoms  on  thy  lips, 
And  tears  like  sunshine  from  thine  eyes ! 
Life  is  but  Thought :  so  think  I  will 
That  Youth  and  I  are  housemates  still. 

Dew-drops  are  the  gems  of  morning, 
But  the  tears  of  mournful  eve  ! 
Where  no  hope  is,  life's  a  warning 
That  only  serves  to  make  us  grieve 
When  we  are  old  : 


258  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

—  That  only  serves  to  make  us  grieve 
With  oft  and  tedious  taking-leave, 
Like  some  poor  nigh-related  guest 
That  may  not  rudely  be  dismisst, 
Yet  hath  out-stay'd  his  welcome  while, 
And  tells  the  jest  without  the  smile. 

—  S.  T.  Coleridge. 


12. 


THE   STREAM    OF   LIFE. 

O  STREAM  descending  to  the  sea, 
Thy  mossy  banks  between, 

The  flowerets  blow,  the  grasses  grow, 
The  leafy  trees  are  green. 

In  garden  plots  the  children  play, 
The  fields  the  laborers  till, 

And  houses  stand  on  either  hand, 
And  thou  descendest  still. 

O  life  descending  into  death, 

Our  waking  eyes  behold. 
Parent  and  friend  thy  lapse  attend. 

Companions  young  and  old. 

Strong  purposes  our  minds  possess, 

Our  hearts  affections  fill, 
We  toil  and  earn,  we  seek  and  learn. 

And  thou  descendest  still. 


L  YRICS   OF  LIFE.  259 

O  end  to  which  our  currents  tend, 

Inevitable  sea, 
To  which  we  flow,  what  do  we  know, 

What  shall  we  guess  of  thee  ? 

A  roar  we  hear  upon  thy  shore, 

As  we  our  course  fulfil; 
Scarce  we  divine  a  sun  will  shine 

And  be  above  us  still. 

—  Arthur  Hugh  Clough. 


13- 
A   PETITION   TO   TIME. 

Touch  us  gently.  Time  ! 

Glide  us  adown  thy  stream 
Gently,  —  as  we  sometimes  glide 

Through  a  quiet  dream  ! 
Humble  voyagers  are  we, 
Husband,  wife,  and  children  three  — 
(One  is  lost,  —  an  angel,  fled 
To  the  azure  overhead  !) 

Touch  us  gently,  Time  ! 

We've  not  proud  nor  soaring  wings : 
Our  ambition,  our  content 

Lies  in  simple  things. 
Humble  voyagers  are  we. 
O'er  Life's  dim  unsounded  sea, 
Seeking  only  some  calm  clime  :  — 
Touch  us  gently,  gentle  Time ! 

—  Bryan  Waller  Procter. 


260  CHOICE  EXGLISH  LYRICS. 

14. 

A  PROPER  MAN. 

Of  your  trouble,  Ben,  to  case  me, 
I  will  tell  what  man  would  please  me. 
I  would  have  him  if  I  could 
Noble ;  or  of  greater  blood  ; 
Titles,  I  confess,  do  take  me. 
And  a  woman  God  did  make  me ; 
French  to  boot,  at  least  in  fashion, 
And  his  manners  of  that  nation. 

Young  I'd  have  him  too,  and  fair, 
Yet  a  man  ;  with  crisped  hair. 
Cast  in  thousand  snares  and  rings, 
For  love's  fingers  and  his  wings : 
Chestnut  color,  or  more  slack, 
Gold  upon  a  ground  of  black. 
Venus  and  Minerva's  eyes. 
For  he  must  look  wanton-wise. 

Eyebrows  bent  like  Cupid's  bow, 
Front,  an  ample  field  of  snow ; 
Even  nose,  and  cheek  withal, 
Smooth  as  is  the  billiard-ball ; 
Chin  as  woolly  as  the  peach  ; 
And  his  lip  should  kissing  teach, 
Till  he  cherished  too  much  beard, 
And  made  Love  or  me  afeard. 

He  should  have  a  hand  as  soft 
As  the  down,  and  show  it  oft; 
Skin  as  smooth  as  any  rush, 
And  so  thin  to  see  a  blush 
Rising  through  it,  ere  it  came ; 
All  his  blood  should  be  a  flame, 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  261 

Quickly  fired,  as  in  beginners 

In  Love's  school,  and  yet  no  sinners. 

'Twere  too  long  to  speak  of  all ; 
What  we  harmony  do  call 
In  a  body  should  be  there. 
Well  he  should  his  clothes,  too,  wear, 
Yet  no  tailor  help  to  make  him  ; 
Drest,  you  still  for  man  should  take  him, 
And  not  think  h'  had  eat  a  stake, 
Or  were  set  up  in  a  brake. 

Valiant  he  should  be  as  fire, 
Showing  danger  more  than  ire. 
Bounteous  as  the  clouds  to  earth, 
And  as  honest  as  his  birth ; 
All  his  actions  to  be  such, 
As  to  do  no  thing  too  much  : 
Nor  o'er  praise,  nor  yet  condemn, 
Nor  out-value,  nor  contemn  ; 
Nor  do  wrongs,  nor  wrongs  receive, 
Nor  tie  knots,  nor  knots  unweave ; 
And  from  baseness  to  be  free. 
As  he  durst  love  Truth  and  me. 

Such  a  man,  with  every  part, 
I  could  give  my  very  heart ; 
But  of  one  if  short  he  came, 
I  can  rest  me  where  I  am. 

—  Ben  JONSON. 


262  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

15- 
A  PROPER  WOMAN. 

He  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek 

Or  a  coral  lip  admires, 
Or  from  star-like  eyes  doth  seek 

Fuel  to  maintain  his  fires  ; 
As  old  time  makes  these  decay, 
So  his  flames  must  waste  away. 

But  a  smooth  and  steadfast  mind, 
Gentle  thoughts  and  calm  desires, 

Hearts  with  equal  love  combined, 
Kindle  never  dying  fires  ;  — 

Where  these  are  not,  I  despise 

Lovely  cheeks,  or  lips,  or  eyes. 

—  Thomas  Carew. 


i6. 

THE  COMMON  LOT. 

Once,  in  the  flight  of  ages  past, 
There  lived  a  man  :  —  and  who  was  he  } 
Mortal  !  howe'er  thy  lot  be  cast, 
That  man  resembled  thee. 

Unknown  the  region  of  his  birth, 
The  land  in  which  he  died  unknown  : 
His  name  has  perished  from  the  earth ; 
This  truth  survives  alone  :  — 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  263 

That  joy  and  grief,  and  hope  and  fear, 
Alternate  triumphed  in  his  breast ; 
His  bliss  and  woe,  —  a  smile,  a  tear  !  — 
Oblivion  hides  the  rest. 

The  bounding  pulse,  the  languid  limb, 
The  changing  spirits'  rise  and  fall. 
We  know  that  these  were  felt  by  him. 
For  these  are  felt  by  all. 

He  suffered,  —  but  his  pangs  are  o'er  ; 
Enjoyed,  —  but  his  delights  are  fled  ; 
Had  friends,  —  his  friends  are  now  no  more ; 
And  foes,  —  his  foes  are  dead. 

He  loved,  —  but  whom  he  loved,  the  grave 
Hath  lost  in  its  unconscious  womb  : 
Oh,  she  was  fair  !  —  but  nought  could  save 
Her  beauty  from  the  tomb. 

He  saw  whatever  thou  hast  seen  ; 
Encountered  all  that  troubles  thee  : 
He  was —  whatever  thou  hast  been; 
He  is  —  what  thou  shalt  be. 

The  rolling  seasons,  day  and  night, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  the  earth  and  main, 
Erewhile  his  portion,  life  and  light, 
To  him  exist  in  vain. 

The  clouds  and  sunbeams  o'er  his  eye 
That  once  their  shades  and  glory  threw, 
Have  left  in  yonder  silent  sky 
No  vestige  where  they  flew. 


261  CHOICE    KXGLISH  LYRICS. 

The  annals  of  the  human  race, 
Their  ruins  since  the  world  began, 
Of  HIM  afford  no  other  trace 
Than  this,  —  there  lived  a  man  ! 

—  James  Montgomery. 
♦ 

17- 

THE  PERFECT  LIFE. 

It  is  not  growing  like  a  tree 
In  bulk,  doth  make  Man  better  be  ; 
Or  standing  long  an  oak,  three  hundred  year, 
To  fall  a  log  at  last,  dry,  bald,  and  sere : 
A  lily  of  a  day 
Is  fairer  far  in  May, 
Although  it  fall  and  die  that  night  — 
It  was  the  plant  and  flower  of  Light. 
In  small  proportions  we  just  beauties  see; 
And  in  short  measures  life  may  perfect  be. 

—  Ben  Jonson. 


i8. 
THE   CONTENTED    MIND. 

I  WEIGH  not  fortune's  frown  or  smile ; 

I  joy  not  much  in  earthly  joys  ; 
I  seek  not  state,  I  seek  not  style ; 

I  am  not  fond  of  fancy's  toys ; 
I  rest  so  pleased  with  what  I  have, 
I  wish  no  more,  no  more  I  crave. 


LYRICS    OF  LIFE.  265 

I  quake  not  at  the  thunder's  crack ; 

I  tremble  not  at  noise  of  war ; 
I  swound  not  at  the  news  of  wrack ; 

I  shrink  not  at  a  blazing  star ; 
I  fear  not  loss,  I  hope  not  gain, 
I  envy  none,  I  none  disdain. 

I  see  ambition  never  pleased  ; 

I  see  some  Tantals  starved  in  store ; 
I  see  gold's  dropsy  seldom  eased ; 

I  see  e'en  Midas  gape  for  more  : 
I  neither  want,  nor  yet  abound  — 
Enough's  a  feast,  content  is  crowned. 

I  feign  not  friendship,  where  I  hate ; 

I  fawn  not  on  the  great  in  show ; 
I  prize,  I  praise  a  mean  estate  — 

Neither  too  lofty  nor  to  low  : 
This,  this  is  all  my  choice,  my  cheer  — 
A  mind  content,  a  conscience  clear. 

—  Joshua  Sylvester. 


19. 
A   WISH. 


This  only  grant  me,  that  my  means  may  lie 
Too  low  for  envy,  for  contempt  too  high. 

Some  honor  I  would  have 
Not  from  great  deeds,  but  good  alone. 
The  unknown  are  better  than  ill  known; 

Rumor  can  ope  the  grave. 
Acquaintance  I  would  have,  but  when  't  depends 
Not  on  the  number,  but  the  choice  of  friends. 


266  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Books  should,  not  business,  entertain  the  Hght, 
And  sleep,  as  undisturb'd  as  death,  the  night. 

My  house  a  cottage,  more 
Than  palace,  and  should  fitting  be, 
For  all  my  use,  not  luxury. 

My  garden  painted  o'er 
With  nature's  hand,  not  art's ;  and  pleasures  yield, 
Horace  might  envy  in  his  Sabine  field. 

Thus  would  I  double  my  life's  fading  space, 
For  he  that  runs  it  well,  twice  runs  his  race. 

And  in  this  true  delight, 
These  unbought  sports,  this  happy  state, 
I  would  not  fear  nor  wish  my  fate, 

But  boldly'say  each  night. 
To-morrow  let  my  sun  his  beams  display, 
Or  in  clouds  hide  them ;  I  have  liv'd  to-day. 

—  Abraham  Cowley. 


20. 
A   WISH. 


Mine  be  a  cot  beside  the  hill ; 
A  bee-hive's  hum  shall  soothe  my  ear ; 
A  willowy  brook  that  turns  a  mill, 
With  many  a  fall  shall  linger  near. 

The  swallow,  oft,  beneath  my  thatch 
Shall  twitter  from  her  clay-built  nest ; 
Oft  shall  the  pilgrim  lift  the  latch, 
And  share  my  meal,  a  welcome  guest. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  Itl 

Around  my  ivied  porch  shall  spring 
Each  fragrant  flower  that  drinks  the  dew ; 
And  Lucy,  at  her  wheel,  shall  sing 
In  russet-gown  and  apron  blue. 

The  village  church  among  the  trees. 
Where  first  our  marriage  vows  were  given, 
With  merry  peals  shall  swell  the  breeze 
And  point  with  taper  spire  to  Heaven. 

—  Samuel  Rogers. 


THE   CHARACTER   OF   A    HAPPY   LIFE. 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 
That  serveth  not  another's  will ; 

Whose  armor  is  his  honest  thought, 
And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill ; 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are  ; 

Whose  soul  is  still  prepared  for  death, 
Untied  unto  the  world  by  care 

Of  public  fame  or  private  breath; 

Who  envies  none  that  chance  doth  raise. 
Nor  vice ;  who  never  understood 

How  deepest  wounds  are  given  by  praise ; 
Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good ; 

Who  hath  his  life  from  rumors  freed ; 

Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  retreat ; 
Whose  state  can  neither  flatterers  feed, 

Nor  ruin  make  oppressors  great ; 


268  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray 
More  of  his  grace  than  gifts  to  lend; 

And  entertains  the  harmless  day 
With  a  religious  book  or  friend. 

This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 

Of  hope  to  rise  or  fear  to  fall : 
Lord  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands, 

And,  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 

—  Sir  Henry  Wotton. 


22. 

THE   QUIET   LIFE. 

Happy  the  man  whose  wish  and  care 
A  few  paternal  acres  bound, 
Content  to  breathe  his  native  air 

In  his  own  ground. 

Whose  herds  with  milk,  whose  fields  with  bread. 
Whose  flocks  supply  him  with  attire  ; 
Whose  trees  in  summer  yield  him  shade, 
In  winter,  fire. 

Blest,  who  can  unconcern'dly  find 
Hours,  days,  and  years,  slide  soft  away 
In  health  of  body  ;  peace  of  mind  ; 
Quiet  by  day ; 

Sound  sleep  by  night ;  study  and  ease 
Together  mix'd  ;  sweet  recreation, 
And  innocence,  which  most  does  please 
With  meditation. 


LVAVCS   OF  LIFE.  269 

Thus  let  me  live,  unseen,  unknown ; 
Thus  unlamented  let  me  die; 
Steal  from  the  world,  and  not  a  stone 
Tell  where  I  lie. 

—  Alexander  Pope. 


23- 

THE   EASY    LIFE. 

Is  this  a  life,  to  break  thy  sleep, 
To  rise  as  soon  as  day  doth  peep  .-' 
To  tire  thy  patient  ox  or  ass 
By  noon,  and  let  thy  good  days  pass, 
Not  knowing  this,  that  Jove  decrees 
Some  mirth,  t'adulce  man's  miseries  "* 

—  No  :  'tis  a  life  to  have  thine  oil 
Without  extortion  from  thy  soil ; 
Thy  faithful  fields  to  yield  thee  grain, 
Although  with  some,  yet  little  pain ; 
To  have  thy  mind,  and  nuptial  bed, 
With  fears  and  cares  uncumbered; 

A  pleasing  wife,  that  by  thy  side 
Lies  softly  panting  like  a  bride; 

—  This  is  to  live,  and  to  endear 
Those  minutes  Time  has  sent  us  here. 
Then,  while  fates  suffer,  live  thou  free, 
As  is  that  air  that  circles  thee ; 

And  crown  thy  temples  too  ;  and  let 
Thy  servant,  not  thy  own  self,  sweat, 
To  strut  thy  barns  with  sheaves  of  wheat. 

—  Time  steals  away  like  to  a  stream, 
And  we  glide  hence  away  with  them ; 


270  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

No  sound  recalls  the  hours  once  fled, 

Or  roses,  being  withered; 

Nor  us,  my  friend,  when  we  are  lost, 

Like  to  a  dew,  or  melted  frost. 

—  Then  live  we  mirthful  while  we  should, 

And  turn  the  iron  age  to  gold ; 

Let's  feast  and  frolic,  sing  and  play, 

And  thus  less  last,  than  live  our  day. 

Whose  life  with  care  is  overcast, 

That  man's  not  said  to  live,  but  last; 

Nor  is't  a  life,  seven  years  to  tell, 

But  for  to  live  that  half  seven  well ; 

And  that  we'll  do,  as  men  who  know, 

Some  few  sands  spent,  we  hence  must  go. 

Both  to  be  blended  in  the  urn. 

From  whence  there's  never  a  return. 

—  Robert  Herrick. 


24. 
CONTENT. 


Art  thou  poor,  yet  hast  thou  golden  slumbers  } 

O  sweet  Content ! 
Art  thou  rich,  yet  is  thy  mind  perplexed  ? 

O  Punishment ! 
Dost  laugh  to  see  how  fools  are  vexed 
To  add  to  golden  numbers  golden  numbers } 

O  sweet  Content,  O  sweet,  O  sweet  Content ! 

Work  apace,  apace,  apace,  apace. 

Honest  labor  bears  a  lovely  face. 

Then  hey  noney,  noney ;  hey  noney,  noney. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  271 

Canst  drink  the  waters  of  the  crisped  spring  ? 

O  sweet  Content ! 
Swim'st  thou  in  wealth,  yet  sink'st  in  thine  own  tears  ? 

O  Punishment ! 
Then  he  that  patiently  Want's  burden  bears, 
No  burden  bears,  but  is  a  king,  a  king. 

O  sweet  Content,  O  sweet,  O  sweet  Content ! 

Work  apace,  apace,  etc.  -Thomas  Dekker. 


25- 
MELANCOLIA. 

Hence,  all  you  vain  delights, 

As  short  as  are  the  nights 

Wherein  you  spend  your  folly: 

There's  nought  in  this  life  sweet, 

If  man  were  wise  to  see't. 

But  only  melancholy, 

O  sweetest  melancholy  ! 
Welcome,  folded  arms,  and  fixed  eyes, 
A  sigh  that  piercing  mortifies, 
A  look  that's  fasten'd  to  the  ground, 
A  tongue  chain'd  up  without  a  sound ! 
Fountain  heads  and  pathless  groves. 
Places  which  pale  passion  loves ! 
Moonlight  walks,  when  all  the  fowls 
Are  warmly  housed,  save  bats  and  owls ! 
A  midnight  bell,  a  parting  groan  ! 
These  are  the  sounds  we  feed  upon ;  • 
Then  stretch  our  bones  in  a  still  gloomy  valley  ; 
Nothing's  so  dainty  sweet  as  lovely  melancholy. 

—  Francis  Beaumont. 


272  CHOICE  ENGLISH  lYRICS. 

26. 
ON  MELANCHOLY. 


When  I  go  musing  all  alone, 
Thinking  of  divers  things  foreknown ; 
When  I  build  castles  in  the  air, 
Void  of  sorrow,  void  of  care. 
Pleasing  myself  with  phantasms  sweet, 
Methinks  the  time  runs  very  ileet. 

All  my  joys  to  this  are  folly ; 

Naught  so  sweet  as  melancholy ! 


When  I  go  walking  all  alone. 
Recounting  what  I  have  ill-done. 
My  thoughts  on  me  then  tyrannise, 
Fear  and  sorrow  me  surprise. 
Whether  I  tarry  still,  or  go, 
Methinks  the  time  moves  very  slow. 

All  my  griefs  to  this  are  jolly ; 

Naught  so  sad  as  melancholy. 

3- 
When  to  myself  I  act  and  smile. 
With  pleasing  thoughts  the  time  beguile, 
By  a  brookside  or  wood  so  green. 
Unheard,  unsought  for,  or  unseen, 
A  thousand  pleasures  do  me  bless. 
And  crown  my  soul  with  happiness. 

All  my  joys  besides  are  folly ; 

None  so  sweet  as  melancholy. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  in 


When  I  lie,  sit,  or  walk  alone, 

I  sigh,  I  griev^e,  making  great  moan  ; 

In  a  dark  grove  or  irksome  den, 

With  discontents  and  furies  then, 

A  thousand  miseries  at  once 

Mine  heavy  heart  and  soul  ensconce. 

All  my  griefs  to  this  are  jolly  ; 

None  so  sour  as  melancholy. 


Methinks  I  hear,  methinks  I  see 
Sweet  music,  wondrous  melody, 
Towns,  palaces,  and  cities  fine  ; 
Here  now,  then  there,  the  world  is  mine; 
Rare  beauties,  gallants,  ladies  shine, 
Whate'er  is  lovely,  is  divine. 

All  other  joys  to  this  are  folly; 

None  so  sweet  as  melancholy. 


Methinks  I  hear,  methinks  I  see 
Ghosts,  goblins,  fiends  :  my  fantasy 
Presents  a  thousand  ugly  shapes  ; 
Headless  bears,  black  men,  and  apes ; 
Doleful  outcries,  fearful  sights 
My  sad  and  dismal  soul  affrights. 

All  my  griefs  to  this  are  jolly ; 

None  so  damn'd  as  melancholy. 

—  Robert  Burton. 
s 


274  CHOICE  EXGIJSII  LYRICS. 

27. 

BREAK,  BREAK,  BREAK! 

Break,  break,  break, 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  Sea ! 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 

The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

Oh  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy. 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play! 

Oh  well  for  the  sailor  lad, 

That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay  I 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill ; 
But  oh  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 

And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still ! 

Break,  break,  break. 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  O  Sea ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

—  Alfred  Tennyson. 


28. 
THE   SOUL'S    ERRAND. 

Go,  Soul,  the  body's  guest. 
Upon  a  thankless  errand  ; 

Fear  not  to  touch  the  best ; 

The  truth  shall  be  thy  warrant. 

Go,  since  I  must  die. 

And  irive  the  world  the  lie. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  275 

Say  to  the  Court  it  glows 

And  shines  like  rotten  wood ; 
Say  to  the  Church  it  shows 

What's  good,  and  doth  no  good. 
If  Church  and  Court  reply, 
Then  give  them  both  the  lie. 

Tell  Potentates  they  live 

Acting  but  others'  actions; 
Not  loved  unless  they  give, 

Not  strong  but  by  their  factions. 
If  Potentates  reply, 
Give  Potentates  the  lie. 

Tell  men  of  high  condition, 

That  manage  the  estate, 
Their  purpose  is  ambition. 

Their  practice  only  hate. 
And  if  they  once  reply, 
Then  give  them  all  the  lie. 

Tell  them  that  brave  it  most. 
They  beg  for  more  by  spending, 

Who  in  their  greatest  cost 

Like  nothing  but  commending  : 

And  if  they  make  reply. 

Then  tell  them  all  they  lie. 

Tell  Zeal  it  wants  devotion ; 

Tell  Love  it  is  but  lust ; 
Tell  Time  it  is  but  motion ; 

Tell  Flesh  it  is  but  dust. 
And  wish  them  not  reply. 
For  thou  must  give  the  lie. 


276  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Tell  Age  it  daily  wasteth  ; 

Tell  Honor  how  it  alters  ; 
Tell  Beauty  how  she  blasteth ; 

Tell  Favor  how  it  falters. 
And  as  they  shall  reply, 
Give  every  one  the  lie. 

Tell  Wit  how  much  it  wrangles 
In  tickle  points  of  niceness ; 

Tell  Wisdom  she  entangles 
Herself  in  over-wiseness. 

And  when  they  do  reply, 

Straight  give  them  both  the  lie. 

Tell  Physic  of  her  boldness ; 

Tell  Skill  it  is  pretension ; 
Tell  Charity  of  coldness  ; 

Tell  Law  it  is  contention. 
And  as  they  do  reply, 
So  give  them  still  the  lie. 

Tell  Fortune  of  her  blindness  ; 

Tell  Nature  of  decay  ; 
Tell  Friendship  of  unkindness ; 

Tell  Justice  of  delay. 
And  if  they  will  reply, 
Then  give  them  all  the  lie. 

Tell  Arts  they  have  no  soundness, 
But  vary  by  esteeming  ; 

Tell  Schools  they  want  profoundness, 
And  stand  too  much  on  seeming. 

If  Arts  and  Schools  reply. 

Give  Arts  and  Schools  the  lie. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  277 

Tell  Faith  it's  fled  the  city; 

Tell  how  the  country  erreth ; 
Tell  Manhood  shakes  off  pity ; 

Tell  Virtue  least  preferreth. 
And  if  they  do  reply, 
Spare  not  to  give  the  lie. 

So  when  thou  hast,  as  I 

Commanded  thee,  done  babbling, 
Although  to  give  the  lie 

Deserves  no  less  than  stabbing, 
Yet  stab  at  thee  who  will. 
No  stab  the  soul  can  kill. 

—  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  (?). 


29. 

THE   LIGHT   OF   OTHER   DAYS. 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Fond  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me  ; 
The  smiles,  the  tears 
Of  boyhood's  years. 
The  words  of  love  then  spoken ; 
The  eyes  that  shone. 
Now  dimmed  and  gone, 
The  cheerful  hearts  now  broken ! 
Thus  in  the  stilly  night 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 


278  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

When  I  remember  all 

The  friends  so  linked  together 
I've  seen  around  me  fall 

Like  leaves  in  wintry  weather, 
I  feel  like  one 
Who  treads  alone 
Some  banquet-hall  deserted, 
Whose  lights  arc  fled, 
Whose  garlands  dead, 
And  all  but  he  departed  ! 
Thus  in  the  stilly  night 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 

—  Thomas  Moore. 


30- 
JOHN    ANDERSON. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 
When  we  were  first  acquent 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven, 
Your  bonnie  brow  was  brent ; 
But  now  your  brow  is  bald,  John, 
Your  locks  are  like  the  snow  ; 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 
John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 
We  clamb  the  hill  thegither, 
And  mony  a  canty  day,  John, 
We've  had  wi'  ane  anither: 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  279 

Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 
But  hand  in  hand  we'll  go, 
And  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 
John  Anderson  my  jo. 

—  Robert  Burns. 


31- 
AULD    LANG   SYNE. 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
And  never  brought  to  mind  .'' 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
And  days  o'  lang  syne .'' 

Chorus. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear, 

For  auld  lang  syne, 
We'll  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

And  surely  ye'll  be  your  pint-stowp, 

And  surely  I'll  be  mine ; 
And  we'll  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 

For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

We  twa  hae  run  about  the  braes. 

And  pu'd  the  gowans  fine  ; 
But  we've  wander'd  mony  a  weary  foot 

Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 


280  CHOICE   EXGI.lSir   f.YRICS. 

Wc  twa  hac  paidl'd  i'  the  burn, 

From  morning  sun  till  dine  ; 
But  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roar'd 

Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

And  here's  a  hand,  my  trusty  ficre, 

And  gie's  a  hand  o'  thine ; 
And  we'll  tak  a  right  guid  willie-waught, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld,  &c. 

—  Robert  Burns. 


32. 
THE   LAND   O'   THE    LEAL. 

I'm  wearin'  awa',  John, 

Like  snaw-wreaths  in  thaw,  John, 

I'm  wearin'  awa' 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 
There's  nae  sorrow  there,  John, 
There's  neither  cauld  nor  care,  John, 
The  day  is  aye  fair 

In  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

Our  bonnie  bairn's  there,  John, 
She  was  baith  gude  and  fair,  John, 
And  oh  !  we  grudg'd  her  sair 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 
But  sorrow's  sel'  wears  past,  John, 
And  joy's  a-comin'  fast,  John, 
And  joy  that's  aye  to  last 

In  the  land  o'  the  leal. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  281 

Sae  dear  that  joy  was  bought,  John, 
Sae  free  the  battle  fought,  John, 
That  sinfu'  man  e'er  brought 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 
Oh  !  dry  your  glistening  e'e,  John, 
My  soul  langs  to  be  free,  John, 
And  angels  beckon  me 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

Oh !  baud  ye  leal  and  true,  John, 

Your  day  it's  wearin'  thro',  John, 

And  I'll  welcome  you 

To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

Now  fare  ye  weel,  my  ain  John, 

This  warld's  cares  are  vain,  John ; 

We'll  meet,  and  we'll  be  fain. 

In  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

—  Lady  Nairne. 


GROWING   OLD. 

What  is  it  to  grow  old  ? 

Is  it  to  lose  the  glory  of  the  form, 

The  lustre  of  the  eye .'' 

Is  it  for  beauty  to  forego  her  wreath } 

Yes,  but  not  this  alone. 

Is  it  to  feel  our  strength  — 

Not  our  bloom  only,  but  our  strength  —  decay 

Is  it  to  feel  each  limb 

Grow  stiffer,  every  function  less  exact, 

Each  nerve  more  weakly  strung .'' 


282  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Yes,  this,  and  more !  but  not. 

Ah,  'tis  not  what  in  youth  we  dream'd  'twould  be ! 
'Tis  not  to  have  our  life 
'  Mellow'd  and  soften'd  as  with  sunset  glow, 
A  golden  day's  decline  ! 

'Tis  not  to  see  the  world 

As  from  a  height,  wath  rapt  prophetic  eyes, 

And  heart  profoundly  stirr'd  ; 

And  weep,  and  feel  the  fulness  of  the  past. 

The  years  that  are  no  more ! 

It  is  to  spend  long  days 

And  not  once  feel  that  we  were  ever  young. 

It  is  to  add,  immured 

In  the  hot  prison  of  the  present,  month 

To  month  with  weary  pain. 

It  is  to  suffer  this. 

And  feel  but  half,  and  feebly,  what  we  feel. 

Deep  in  our  hidden  heart 

Festers  the  dull  remembrance  of  a  change. 

But  no  emotion  —  none. 

It  is  —  last  stage  of  all  — 

When  we  arc  frozen  up  within,  and  quite 

The  phantom  of  ourselves, 

To  hear  the  world  applaud  the  hollow  ghost 

Which  blamed  the  living  man. 

—  Matthew  Arnold. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  283 

34- 
TO    MY    GRANDMOTHER. 

This  Relative  of  mine, 
Was  she  seventy-and-nine 

When  she  died  ? 
By  the  canvas  may  be  seen 
How  she  looked  at  seventeen, 

As  a  Bride. 

Beneath  a  summer  tree. 
Her  maiden  reverie 

Has  a  charm; 
Her  ringlets  are  in  taste  ; 
What  an  arm  !  .  .  .  what  a  waist 

For  an  arm ! 

With  her  bridal-wreath,  bouquet, 
Lace  farthingale,  and  gay 

Falbala,  — 
If  Romney's  art  be  true, 
What  a  lucky  dog*  were  you. 

Grandpapa ! 

Her  lips  are  sweet  as  love ; 

They  are  parting  !     Do  they  move.-" 

Are  they  dumb  ? 
Her  eyes  are  blue,  and  beam 
Beseechingly,  and  seem 

To  say,  "  Come  !  " 

What  funny  fancy  slips 
From  atween  these  cherry  lips? 
Whisper  me, 


284  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Fair  Sorceress  in  paint, 
What  canon  says  I  mayn't 
Marry  thee  ? 

That  good-for-nothing  Time 
Has  a  confidence  sublime  ! 

When  I  first 
Saw  this  Lady,  in  my  youth, 
Her  winters  had,  forsooth. 

Done  their  worst. 

Her  locks,  as  white  as  snow. 
Once  shamed  the  swarthy  crow : 

By-and-by 
That  fowl's  avenging  sprite 
Set  his  cruel  foot  for  spite 

Near  her  eye. 

Her  rounded  form  was  lean, 
And  her  silk  was  bombazine  : 

Well  I  wot 
With  her  needles  would  she  sit, 
And  for  fiours  would  she  knit,  — 

Would  she  not  1 

Ah,  perishable  clay ; 

Her  charms  had  dropt  away 

One  by  one  : 
But  if  she  heaved  a  sigh 
With  a  burthen,  it  was,  "  Thy 

Will  be  done." 

In  travail,  as  in  tears. 
With  the  fardel  of  her  years 
Overprest, 


LYJilCS   OF  LIFE.  285 

In  mercy  she  was  borne 
Where  the  weary  and  the  worn 
Are  at  rest. 

Oh,  if  you  now  are  there, 
And  szvcct  as  once  you  tvere^ 

Grandmamma, 
This  nether  world  agrees 
You'll  all  the  better  please 

Grandpapa. 

—  Frederick  Locker-Lampson. 


35- 
UP-HILL. 


Does  the  road  wind  up-hill  all  the  way } 

Yes,  to  the  very  end. 
Will  the  day's  journey  take  the  whole  long  day } 

From  morn  till  night,  my  friend. 

But  is  there  for  the  night  a  resting-place  } 
A  roof  for  when  the  slow  dark  hours  begin. 

May  not  the  darkness  hide  it  from  my  face  .-• 
You  cannot  miss  that  inn. 

Shall  I  meet  other  wayfarers  at  night } 

Those  who  have  gone  before. 
Then  must  I  knock,  or  call  when  just  in  sight  .-* 

They  will  not  keep  you  standing  at  that  door. 

Shall  I  find  comfort,  travel-sore  and  weak .-' 

Of  labor  you  shall  find  the  sum. 
Will  there  be  beds  for  me  and  all  who  seek } 

Yea,  beds  for  all  who  come. 

—  Christina  Rossetti. 


286  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

36. 

A   PARTING    IN    DREAMLAND. 

Among  the  poppies  by  the  well 
Of  Lethe,  where  I  weary  lay, 

Upon  my  soul  a  slumber  fell, 

Making  the  light  of  summer  gray; 

Nepenthe  too  I  ate  of  him, 

Whose  eyes  were  eyes  of  Seraphim, 

But  ere  I  slept,  while  still  it  seemed 
That  sleep  was  a  delicious  thing, 

The  splendor  of  a  vision  streamed 

Above  the  poppy-heads  that  fling 

Their  drowsy  juice  and  drowsy  scent 

Through  blood  and  brain  with  ravishment. 

For  there  he  stood  whose  eyes  are  eyes 
Of  Seraphim  :  and  lo  !  his  lips 

Seemed  quivering  with  the  winds  of  sighs  ; 
And  all  his  forehead  in  eclipse 

Burned  not,  but  showered  well-heads  of  tears 

Amid  the  deserts  of  dead  years. 

Yea,  and  his  heart  fed  living  fire ; 

And  both  his  cheeks  like  ashes  wan 
Were  cinders  of  a  spent  desire 

For  lack  of  food  to  feed  upon  : 
Therewith  the  Spirit  smiled  and  spake 
Words  sweet  as  breath  from  buds  that  break : 

"I  go ;  take  now,  dear  soul,  thy  rest ; 

Slumber  beneath  the  poppy-flowers  ! 
The  mole  within  her  winter  nest 

Be  not  so  folded  from  sad  hours 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  287 

As  thou,  who  of  the  thought  of  me 
Eatest  Nepenthe  wearily. 

"I  go ;  but  when  thy  dream  is  o'er, 

When  thou  awakest  cold  perchance, 

And  haply  from  sleep's  golden  door 
Gazest  upon  the  drear  expanse 

Of  barren  years  and  vacant  life 

And  long  monotony  of  strife, 

"  Think  then  of  me  :  though  hence  I  go ; 

Though  I  am  withered,  worn,  and  old, 
With  waiting,  praying,  weeping  through 

Long  days  that  shiver  in  the  cold 
Of  thy  scant  love  —  yet  will  I  come. 
And,  when  thou  callest,  bear  thee  home." 

He  spake ;  and  fire  with  sudden  pain 

Flashed  in  his  face.     Then  slumber  fell 

Upon  my  lids  like  summer  rain ; 

And  through  faint  dreams  the  terrible 

Flame  of  that  head,  of  those  wild  eyes. 

Died ;  and  my  sleep  was  Paradise. 

—  J.  A.  Symonds. 

— ♦ 

37- 
THE   VOYAGE   OF   LIFE. 

Let  not  the  water  floods  overflow  fne,  neither  let  the  deeps  swallow  me  up. 
Psalm  Ixii.  15. 

The  world's  a  sea ;  my  flesh  a  ship  that's  manned 
With  lab'ring  thoughts,  and  steered  by  reason's  hand, 
My  heart's  the  seaman's  card  whereby  she  sails ; 
My  loose  affections  are  the  greater  sails ; 


288  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

The  top-sail  is  my  fancy,  and  the  gusts 

That  fill  these  wanton  sheets,  arc  worldly  lusts. 

Prayer  is  the  cable,  at  whose  end  appears 

The  anchor  hope,  ne'er  slipped  hut  in  our  fears : 

My  will's  th'  unconstant  pilot,  that  commands 

The  stagg'ring  keel ;  my  sins  are  like  the  sands : 

Repentance  is  the  bucket,  and  mine  eye 

The  pump  unused  (but  in  extremes)  and  dry  : 

My  conscience  is  the  plummet  that  does  press 

The  deeps,  but  seldom  cries,  O  fathomless : 

Smooth  calm's  security :  the  gulf,  despair ; 

My  freight's  corruption,  and  this  life's  my  fare  : 

My  soul's  the  passenger,  confusedly  driven 

From  fear  to  fright ;  her  landing  port  is  heaven. 

My  seas  are  stormy,  and  my  ship  doth  leak; 

My  sailors  rude  ;  my  steersman  faint  and  weak : 

My  canvas  torn,  it  flaps  from  side  to  side  : 

My  cable's  crack'd,  my  anchor's  slightly  tied. 

My  pilot's  crazed ;  my  ship-wrack  sands  are  cloaked 

My  bucket's  broken,  and  my  pump  is  choked ; 

My  calm's  deceitful;  and  my  gulf  too  near; 

My  wares  are  slubbered,  and  my  fare's  too  dear : 

My  plummet's  light,  it  cannot  sink  nor  sound ; 

Oh  shall  my  rock-bethreaten'd  soul  be  drown'd  .-• 

Lord,  still  the  seas,  and  shield  my  ship  from  harm ; 

Instruct  my  sailors,  guide  my  steersman's  arm  : 

Touch  thou  my  compass,  and  renew  my  sails, 

Send  stiffer  courage  or  send  milder  gales ; 

Make  strong  my  cable,  bind  my  anchor  faster ; 

Direct  my  pilot,  and  be  thou  his  master ; 

Object  the  sands  to  my  more  serious  view. 

Make  sound  my  bucket,  bore  my  jjump  anew  : 

New-cast  my  plummet,  make  it  apt  to  try 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  289 

Where  the  rocks  lurk,  and  where  the  quick-sands  lie ; 
Guard  thou  the  gulf  with  love,  my  calms  with  care  ; 
Cleanse  thou  my  freight ;  accept  my  slender  fare ; 
Refresh  the  sea-sick  passenger ;  cut  short 
His  voyage;  land  him  in  his  wished  port: 
Thou,  then,  whom  winds  and  stormy  seas  obey. 
That  through  the  deep  gavest  grumbling  Israel  way, 
Say  to  my  soul,  be  safe ;  and  then  mine  eye 
Shall  scorn  grim  death,  although  grim  death  stand  by. 
O  thou  whose  strength-reviving  arm  did  cherish 
Thy  sinking  Peter,  at  the  point  to  perish, 
Reach  forth  thy  hand,  or  bid  me  tread  the  wave, 
I'll  come,  I'll  come :  the  voice  that  calls  will  save. 

—  Francis  Quarles. 

The  confluence  of  lust  makes  a  great  tempest,  which 
in  this  sea  disturbeth  the  sea-faring  soul,  that  reason 
cannot  govern  it.  —  St.  Ambrose.  Apol.  post,  pro 
David,  cap.  3. 

We  labour  in  the  boisterous  sea  :  thou  standest  upon 
the  shore  and  seest  our  dangers ;  give  us  grace  to  hold 
a  middle  course  between  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  that,  both 
dangers  escaped,  we  may  arrive  at  the  port  secure.  — 
St.  Augustine.     Soliloq.  cap.  35. 

Epig.  II. 

My  soul,  the  seas  are  rough,  and  thou  a  stranger 
In  these  false  coasts  ;  O  keep  aloof  ;  there's  danger : 
Cast  forth  thy  plummet;  see  a  rock  appears; 
Thy  ship  wants  sea-room ;  make  it  with  thy  tears. 

T 


290  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

38. 

CROSSING  THE  BAR. 

Sunset  and  evening  star, 

And  one  clear  call  for  me  ! 
And  may  there  be  no  moaning  at  the  bar 

When  I  put  out  to  sea, 
But  such  a  tide  as  moving  seems  asleep, 

Too  full  for  sound  and  foam, 
When  that  which  drew  from  out  the  boundless  deep 

Turns  again  home. 

Twilight  and  evening  bell, 

And  after  that  the  dark ! 
And  may  there  be  no  sadness  of  farewell 

When  I  embark ; 
For  though  from  out  our  bourne  of  Time  and  Place 

The  flood  may  bear  me  far, 
I  hope  to  see  my  Pilot  face  to  face 

When  I  have  crossed  the  bar. 

—  Alfred  Tennyson. 

» 

39- 
LIFE   AND    DEATH. 

Life  !  I  know  not  what  thou  art, 
But  know  that  thou  and  I  must  part ; 
And  when,  or  where,  or  how  we  met 
I  own  to  me's  a  secret  yet. 

Life  !  we've  been  long  together 
Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather; 
'Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  arc  dear  — 
Perhaps  'twill  cost  a  sigh,  a  tear  ;  — 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  291 


Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning, 

Choose  thine  own  time  ; 

Say  not  Good-night, —  but  in  some  brighter  clime 


Bid  me  Good-morning. 


—  Anna  Letitia  Barbauld. 


40. 

SWEET    PERIL. 

Alas  !  how  easily  things  go  wrong  — 

A  sigh  too  much,  or  a  kiss  too  long. 

And  there  follows  a  mist  and  a  weeping  rain, 

And  life  is  never  the  same  again. 

Alas  !  how  hardly  things  go  right  — 

'Tis  hard  to  watch  in  a  summer  night, 

For  the  sigh  will  come,  and  the  kiss  will  stay, 

And  the  summer  night  is  a  winter  day. 

—  George  Macdonald. 


41. 

DEATH. 

They  die  —  the  dead  return  not.     Misery 

Sits  near  an  open  grave,  and  calls  them  over, 
A  youth  with  hoary  hair  and  haggard  eye. 

They  are  the  names  of  kindred,  friend,  and  lover, 
Which  he  so  feebly  calls.     They  all  are  gone. 
Fond  wretch,  all  dead !    Those  vacant  names  alone, 
This  most  familiar  scene,  my  pain, 
These  tombs,  —  alone  remain. 


292  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Misery,  my  sweetest  friend,  oh  !  weep  no  more! 

Thou  wilt  not  be  consoled  ?     I  wonder  not : 
For  I  have  seen  thee  from  thy  dwelling's  door 

Watch  the  calm  sunset  with  them,  and  this  spot 
Was  even  as  bright  and  calm  but  transitory,  — 
And  now  thy  hopes  are  gone,  thy  hair  is  hoary. 
This  most  familiar  scene,  my  pain, 
These  tombs,  —  alone  remain. 

—  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


42. 

SORROW-SONG. 

O  SORROW,  sorrow,  say  where  dost  thou  dwell } 

In  the  lowest  room  of  hell. 
Art  thou  born  of  human  race .'' 
No,  no,  I  have  a  furier  face. 
Art  thou  in  city,  town,  or  court  .-• 

I  to  every  place  resort. 
Oh,  why  into  the  world  is  sorrow  sent  ? 

Men  afifiicted  best  repent. 
What  dost  thou  feed  on  } 

Broken  sleep. 
What  tak'st  thou  pleasure  in  } 
To  weep. 

To  sigh,  to  sob,  to  pine,  to  groan,     ' 
To  wring  my  hands,  to  sit  alone. 
Oh,  when,  oh,  when  shall  sorrow  quiet  have  .-" 
Never,  never,  never,  never. 
Never  till  she  finds  a  grave. 

—  Samuel  Rowley. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  293 

43- 

DEATH'S   TRIUMPH. 

The  glories  of  our  blood  and  state 

Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things ; 
There  is  no  armor  against  fate : 
Death  lays  his  icy  hand  on  kings. 
Sceptre  and  crown 
Must  tumble  down, 
And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made 
With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade. 

Some  men  with  swords  may  reap  the  field, 
And  plant  with  laurels  where  they  kill ; 
But  their  strong  nerves  at  last  must  yield. 
They  tame  but  one  another  still ; 
Early  or  late, 
They  stoop  to  fate, 
And  must  give  up  their  murmuring  breath. 
When  they,  pale  captives  !  creep  to  death. 

The  garlands  wither  on  your  brow  ; 

Then  boast  no  more  your  mighty  deeds ; 
Upon  death's  purple  altar,  now. 
See  where  the  victor  victim  bleeds ! 
All  heads  must  come 
To  the  cold  tomb. 
Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet  and  blossom  in  the  dust. 

—  James  Shirley. 


294  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

44- 
TO    LIFE'S   PILGRIM. 

Fly  from  the  press,  and  dwell  with  soothf astness ; 

Suffice  unto  thy  good,  though  it  be  small, 
For  hoard  hath  hate,  and  climbing  tickleness  ; 

Preise  hath  envie,  and  weal  is  blent  o'er  all. 

Savour  no  more  than  thee  behoven  shall. 
Rede  well  thyself  that  other  folk  can'st  rede, 
And  Truth  thee  shalt  deliver  —  'tis  no  drede. 

That  thee  is  sent  receive  in  buxomness : 
The  wrestling  of  this  world,  asketh  a  fall. 

Here  is  no  home,  here  is  but  wilderness. 

Forth,  pilgrim,  forth  —  on,  best  out  of  thy  stall; 
Look  up  on  high,  and  thank  the  God  of  all ! 

Weivith  thy  lust,  and  let  thy  ghost  thee  lead, 

And  Truth  thee  shalt  deliver  —  'tis  no  drede. 

—  Geoffrey  Chaucer. 


45- 
LAST   LINES. 

Even  such  is  time,  that  takes  in  trust 
Our  youth,  our  joys,  our  all  we  have, 
And  pays  us  but  with  earth  and  dust ; 
Who,  in  the  dark  and  silent  grave, 
When  we  have  wandered  all  our  ways, 
Shuts  up  the  story  of  our  days  ; 
But  from  this  earth,  this  grave,  this  dust, 
My  God  shall  raise  me  up  I  trust. 

—  Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 


LYRICS   OF  LIFE.  295 


NOTES. 

No.  I.    Man's  Mortality.     First  published  in  the  second  edition  of 
Wastell's  il/zV;-(7(5//^//o«,  1629.    There  are  doubts  concerning  its  authorship, 
1.  6.    gourd  which  Jonas  had.     See  Jonah,  iv. 

No.  4.  The  Retreat.  "This  poem,  apart  from  its  proper  beauty, 
has  a  deeper  interest,  as  containing  in  the  germ  Wordsworth's  still  higher 
strain,  namely,  his  Ode  on  Intimations  of  Immortality  from  Recollections  of 
Early  Childhood.  I  proceeded  in  my  first  edition  to  say,  '  I  do  not  mean 
that  Wordsworth  had  ever  seen  this  poem  when  he  wrote  his  own.  The 
coincidences  are  so  remarkable  that  it  is  certainly  difficult  to  esteem  them 
accidental;  but  Wordsworth  was  so  little  a  reader  of  anything  out  of  the 
way,  and  at  the  time  when  his  Ode  was  composed,  the  Silex  Scintillans 
was  altogether  out  of  the  way,  a  book  of  such  excessive  rarity,  that  an 
explanation  of  the  points  of  contact  between  the  poems  must  be  sought 
for  elsewhere.'  That  this  was  too  rashly  spoken  I  have  since  had  proof. 
A  correspondent,  with  date  July  13,  1869,  has  written  to  me,  'I  have  a 
copy  of  the  first  edition  of  the  Silex,  incomplete  and  very  much  damp- 
stained,  which  I  bought  in  a  lot  with  several  other  books  at  the  poet 
Wordsworth's  sale.'  The  entire  forgetfulness  into  which  poetry,  which, 
though  not  of  the  very  highest  order  of  all,  is  yet  of  a  very  high  one,  may 
fall,  is  strikingly  exemplified  in  the  fact  that  as  nearly  as  possible  two 
centuries  intervened  between  the  first  and  second  editions  of  Vaughan's 
poems.  The  first  edition  of  the  first  part  of  the  Silex  Scintillans  appeared 
in  1650,  the  second  edition  of  the  book  in  1847.  That  which  is  sometimes 
referred  to  as  a  second  edition,  bearing  date  1655,  is  indeed  only  the  first, 
with  a  new  title-page  and  preface,  and  some  eighty-four  pages  of  addi- 
tional matter.  Oblivion  overtook  him  from  the  first.  Phillips  in  his 
Theatrum  Poetarum,  1675,  just  mentions  him  and  no  more;  and  knows 
him  only  by  his  Olor  Iscanus,  a  juvenile  production,  of  comparatively 
little  worth ;  which  yet,  seeing  that  it  yields  such  lines  as  the  following  — 
they  form  part  of  a  poem  addressed  to  the  unfortunate  Elizabeth  of 
Bohemia,  daughter  of  our  first  James  —  cannot  be  affirmed  to  be  of  none  : 

'  Thou  seem'st  a  rosebud  born  in  snow ; 
A  flower  of  purpose  sprung  to  bow 
To  heedless  tempests  and  the  rage 
Of  an  incensed  stormy  age  : 


296  CIIOrCF.   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

'  And  yet  as  balm-trees  gently  spend 
Their  tears  for  those  that  do  them  rend, 
Thou  didst  not  murmur  nor  revile, 
But  drank'st  thy  wormwood  with  a  smile." 

As  a  theologian  Vaughan  may  be  inferior,  but  as  a  poet  he  is  certainly 
superior,  to  Herbert,  who  never  wrote  anything  so  purely  poetical  as  Tke 
Retreat.  Still  Vaughan  would  probably  never  have  written  as  he  has,  if 
Herbert,  whom  he  gratefully  owns  as  his  master,  had  not  shown  him  the 
way."  —  Trench. 

No.  5,  The  Piper.  This  poem  forms  the  introduction  to  Blake's 
Songs  of  Innocence,  1 789. 

No.  8.  Youth  and  Age.  A  song  from  the  story  of  The  Water-Babies, 
1863. 

No.  1 1.  Youth  and  Age.  Leigh  Hunt  says :  "  This  is  one  of  the  most 
perfect  poems  for  style,  feeling,  and  everything,  that  ever  was  written." 

No.   12.   The  Stream  of  Life.     Yrom  Poems  on  Life  and  Duty. 

No.  20.  The  Character  of  a  Happy  Life.  First  published  in  the 
Reliqui/c  IVottonianiC,  in  165 1,  twelve  years  after  Wotton's  death. 

No.  21.    A  Wish.     Y'nsi  ■pnhXhhuiX  m  Poetical  Blossomes.,  1633. 

No.  22.  The  Quiet  Life.  It  is  said  that  these  lines  were  written  by 
Pope  in  1700,  when  only  twelve  years  old. 

No.  24.    Content.     From  the  drama  entitled  Patient  Grissell. 

No.  25.  Mfxancolia.  This  might  be  supposed  to  have  suggested 
Milton's  //  Penseroso.,  were  it  not  that  it  did  not  appear  until  two  years 
after  the  publication  of  that  poem  (1637). 

No.  26.  On  Melancholy.  From  The  Anatojuy  of  Melancholy,  1621, 
—  the  book  of  which  Dr.  Johnson  said  it  was  the  only  one  that  ever  took 
him  out  of  bed  two  hours  sooner  than  he  wished  to  rise. 

No.  28.  The  Soul's  Errand.  Published  in  Davison's  Poetical  Rha/>- 
sody,  1608.  It  is  ascribed  to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  by  no  better  evidence 
than  tradition.  As  it  appeared  some  ten  years  before  his  death,  there  can 
be  no  truth  in  the  statement  which  is  sometimes  made  that  it  was  written 
on  the  night  before  his  execution. 


LYRICS    OF  LIFE.  297 

No.  30.   John  Anderson. 

jo.    Darling.  brent.    Brown, 

pow.    Poll,  head.  canty.   Happy, 

maun.    Must. 

No.  31.   Aui.i)  Lang  Syne. 
pint-stowp.    Flagon, 
braes.    Hill-slopes, 
gowan.    Daisy. 
burn.    Brook. 

sun  till  dine.    Sunrise  to  sunset, 
fiere.    Companion. 
willie-waught.    Hearty  pull. 

No.  32.  The  Land  o'  the  Leal. 

leal.    True.  aye.    Ever. 

bairn.    Child.  sair.   Sorely. 

e'e.    Eye.  hand  ye.    Keep  yourself. 

fain.   Glad. 

No.  34.  To  My  Grandmother.  The  poem  was  suggested  by  a  pict- 
ure by  Mr.  Romney. 

No.  37.  The  Voyage  of  Life.  From  Emblems,  Divine  and  Moral, 
1635.  "  He  uses  language  almost  as  greatly  as  Shakespeare,"  says  Tho- 
reau;  "and  although  there  is  not  much  straight  grain  in  him,  there  is 
plenty  of  tough  crooked  timber." 

L  27.   slubbered.    Smeared  over. 

I.  28.   plummet.   Lead. 

No.  42.  SoRROW-SoNG.  The  writer  of  this  poem  was  one  of  the  play- 
ers in  the  service  of  Henry,  Prince  of  Wales.  His  best  known  work  is  a 
play  called  I'he  Spanish  Writer,  from  which  this  little  song  has  been 
taken. 

No.  43.  Death's  Trujmph.  From  the  drama  entitled  The  Conten- 
tions of  Ajax  and  Ulysses,  1659. 

No.  44.  Last  Lines.  These  verses  are  said  to  have  been  written  by 
Sif  Walter  Raleigh  in  his  Bible  on  the  night  before  his  execution,  October 
29,  1618. 


1Relit3iou9  Songe  anb  riDclobica. 


o>»=:c 


With  Christians,  a  poetical  view  of  things  is  a  duty,  —  we  are 
bid  to  color  all  things  with  hues  of  faith,  to  see  a  Divine  meaning 
in  every  event,  and  a  superhuman  tendency.  Even  our  friends 
around  are  invested  with  unearthly  brightness — no  longer  imperfect 
men,  but  beings  taken  itito  Divine  favor,  stamped  with  His  seal, 
and  in  training  for  future  happiness.  Religion  presents  us  with 
those  ideal  forms  of  excellence  in  which  a  poetical  mind  delights, 
and  with  which  all  grace  and  harmony  are  associated.  —  John 
Henry  Newman. 


PEACE. 

My  soul,  there  is  a  country, 

Afar  beyond  the  stars. 
Where  stands  a  winged  sentry, 

All  skilful  in  the  wars. 
There,  above  noise  and  danger, 

Sweet  Peace  sits  crowned  with  smiles, 
And  One  born  in  a  manger 

Commands  the  beauteous  files. 
He  is  thy  gracious  friend, 

And  (O  my  soul,  awake!) 
Did  in  pure  love  descend. 

To  die  here  for  thy  sake. 
298 


RELIGIOUS  SONGS  AND  MELODIES.  299 

If  thou  canst  get  but  thither, 

There  grows  the  flower  of  peace, 
The  rose  that  cannot  wither, 

Thy  fortress,  and  thy  ease. 
Leave  then  thy  fooHsh  ranges ; 

For  none  can  thee  secure, 
But  One  who  never  changes, 

Thy  God,  thy  Life,  thy  Cure. 

—  Henry  Vaughan. 


2. 

THE   HEAVENLY   JERUSALEM. 

Jerusalem,  my  happy  home, 
When  shall  I  come  to  thee  .-• 
When  shall  my  sorrows  have  an  end, 
Thy  joys  when  shall  I  see  } 

O  happy  harbor  of  the  saints ! 
O  sweet  and  pleasant  soil ! 
In  thee  no  sorrow  may  be  found. 
No  grief,  no  care,  no  toil. 

In  thee  no  sickness  may  be  seen, 
Nor  hurt,  nor  ache,  nor  sore : 
There  is  no  death,  nor  ugly  dole. 
But  Life  for  evermore. 

There  lust  and  lucre  cannot  dwell, 
There  envy  bears  no  sway  : 
There  is  no  hunger,  heat,  nor  cold, 
But  pleasure  every  way. 

Thy  walls  are  made  of  precious  stones, 
Thy  bulwarks  diamonds  square  ; 


300  CHOICE   ENGLISH  L  YRICS.  ■ 

Thy  gates  arc  of  right  orient  pearl, 
Exceeding  rich  and  rare. 

Thy  turrets  and  thy  pinnacles 
With  carbuncles  do  shine  ; 
Thy  very  streets  are  paved  with  gold, 
Surpassing  clear  and  fine. 

Thy  houses  are  of  ivory, 

Thy  windows  crystal  clear ; 

Thy  tiles  are  made  of  beaten  gold ;  — 

O  God,  that  I  were  there ! 

Ah,  my  sweet  home,  Jerusalem, 
Would  God  I  were  in  thee ! 
Would  God  my  woes  were  at  an  end, 
Thy  joys  that  I  might  see ! 

Thy  saints  arc  crowned  with  glory  great ; 
They  see  God  face  to  face ; 
They  triumph  still,  they  still  rejoice. 
Most  happy  is  their  case. 

We  that  are  here  in  banishment 
Continually  do  moan, 
We  sigh,  and  sob,  we  weep  and  wail, 
Perpetually  we  groan. 

Our  sweet  is  mixed  with  bitter  gall. 
Our  pleasure  is  but  pain, 
Our  joys  scarce  last  the  looking  on. 
Our  sorrows  still  remain. 

Hut  there  they  live  in  such  delight. 
Such  jik-asurc  and  sut-h  play, 


RELIGIOUS  SONGS  AND  MELODIES.  301 

As  that  to  them  a  thousand  years 
Doth  seem  as  yesterday. 

Thy  gardens  and  thy  gallant  walks 
Continually  arc  green  ; 

There  grow  such  sweet  and  pleasant  flowers 
As  nowhere  else  are  seen. 

Quite  through  the  streets,  with  silver  sound, 
The  flood  of  Life  doth  flow ; 
Upon  whose  banks  on  every  side 
The  wood  of  Life  doth  grow. 

There  trees  for  evermore  bear  fruit, 
And  evermore  do  spring  ; 
There  evermore  the  angels  sit, 
And  evermore  do  sing. 

Jerusalem,  my  happy  home, 

Would  God  I  were  in  thee ! 

Would  God  my  woes  were  at  an  end, 

Thy  joys  that  I  might  see  ! 

—  Anon. 


3- 
SUNDAY. 


O  Day  most  calm,  most  bright ! 
The  fruit  of  this,  the  next  world's  bud ; 

The  endorsement  of  supreme  delight. 
Writ  by  a  Friend,  and  with  his  blood ; 

The  couch  of  Time ;  Care's  calm  and  bay 

The  week  were  dark  but  for  thy  light ; 

Thy  torch  doth  show  the  way. 


302  CHOICE   EXGLISII  LYRICS. 

The  other  days  and  thou 
Make  up  one  man,  whose  face  thou  art, 

Knocking  at  heaven  with  thy  brow  : 
The  working-days  are  the  back  part ; 

The  burden  of  the  week  lies  there, 

Making  the  whole  to  stoop  and  bow, 

Till  thy  release  appear. 

Man  had  straightforward  gone 
To  endless  death  ;  but  thou  dost  pull 

And  turn  us  round,  to  look  on  One, 
Whom,  if  we  were  not  very  dull. 

We  could  not  choose  but  look  on  still ; 

Since  there  is  no  place  so  alone 

The  which  He  doth  not  fill. 

Sundays  the  pillars  are 
On  which  heaven's  palace  archM  lies 

The  other  days  fill  up  the  spare 
And  hollow  room  with  vanities ; 

They  are  the  fruitful  beds  and  borders 
In  God's  rich  garden  ;  that  is  bare 
Which  parts  their  ranks  and  orders. 

—  George  Herbert. 


4. 
THE   VIRTUOUS   SOUL. 

Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright. 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky. 
Sweet  dews  shall  weep  thy  fall  to-night. 
For  thou  must  die. 


RELIGIOUS  SONGS  AND  MELODIES.  303 

Sweet  rose,  whose  hue,  angry  and  brave, 
Bids  the  rash  gazer  wipe  his  eye. 
Thy  root  is  ever  in  its  grave, 
And  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  spring,  full  of  sweet  days  and  roses, 
A  box  where  sweets  compacted  lie, 
My  music  shows  you  have  your  closes, 
And  all  must  die. 

Only  a  sweet  and  virtuous  soul. 

Like  seasoned  timber,  never  gives ; 

But  when  the  whole  world  turns  to  coal. 

Then  chiefly  lives. 

—  George  Herbert. 


5- 
THE    FLOWER. 

How  fresh,  O  Lord,  how  sweet  and  clean 
Are  thy  returns!  e'en  as  the  flowers  in  spring; 

To  which,  besides  their  own  demean, 
The  late-past  frosts  tributes  of  pleasure  bring. 
Grief  melts  away. 
Like  snow  in  May, 
As  if  there  were  no  such  cold  thing. 

Who  could  have  thought  my  shrivelled  heart 
Could  have  recovered  greenness .-'     It  was  gone 

Quite  under  ground ;  as  flowers  depart 
To  see  their  mother-root,  when  they  have  blown  ; 
Where  they  together 
All  the  hard  weather. 
Dead  to  the  world,  keep  house  unknown. 


304  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

These  are  thy  wonders,  Lord  of  power, 
Killing  and  quickening,  bringing  down  to  hell 

And  up  to  heaven  in  an  hour ; 
Making  a  chiming  of  a  passing  bell. 
We  say  amiss, 
This  or  that  is  : 
Thy  word  is  all,  if  we  could  spell. 

Oh,  that  I  once  past  changing  were, 
Fast  in  thy  Paradise,  where  no  flower  can  wither ! 

Many  a  spring  I  shoot  up  fair, 
Offering  at  heaven,  growing  and  groaning  thither: 
Nor  doth  my  flower 
Want  a  spring-shower, 
My  sins  and  I  joining  together. 

But  while  I  grow  in  a  straight  line, 
Still  upwards  bent,  as  if  heaven  were  mine  own, 

Thy  anger  comes,  and  I  decline : 
What  frost  to  that  ?  what  pole  is  not  the  zone 
Where  all  things  burn, 
When  thou  dost  turn, 
And  the  least  frown  of  thine  is  shown  ? 

And  now  in  age  I  bud  again. 
After  so  many  deaths  I  live  and  write ; 

I  once  more  smell  the  dew  and  rain, 
And  relish  versing :  O  my  only  Light, 
It  cannot  be 
That  I  am  he 
On  whom  thy  tempests  fell  at  night. 

These  are  thy  wonders.  Lord  of  love. 
To  make  us  sec  we  are  but  flowers  that  glide ; 


RELIGIOUS  SONGS  AND  MELODIES.  305 

Which  when  we  once  can  find  and  prove, 
Thou  hast  a  garden  for  us,  where  to  bide. 
Who  would  be  more, 
Swelling  through  store, 
Forfeit  their  Paradise  by  their  pride. 

—  George  Herbert. 


THE   PULLEY. 

When  God  at  first  made  man. 
Having  a  glass  of  blessing  standing  by ; 
Let  us  (said  he)  pour  on  him  all  we  can : 
Let  the  world's  riches  which  dispersed  lie 

Contract  into  a  span. 

So  strength  first  made  a  way ; 
Then  beauty  flow'd,  then  wisdom,  honor,  pleasure ; 
When  almost  all  was  out,  God  made  a  stay, 
Perceiving  that  alone,  of  all  his  treasure, 

Rest  in  the  bottom  lay. 

For  if  I  should  (said  he) 
Bestow  this  jewel  also  on  my  creature, 
He  would  adore  my  gifts  instead  of  me. 
And  rest  in  Nature,  not  the  God  of  Nature ; 

So  both  should  losers  be. 

Yet  let  him  keep  the  rest, 
But  keep  them  with  repining  restlessness : 
Let  him  be  rich  and  weary,  that  at  least. 
If  goodness  lead  him  not,  yet  weariness 

May  toss  him  to  my  breast. 


306  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Man  cannot  serve  thee  :  let  him  j^o 
And  serve  the  swine  —  there,  there  is  his  delight: 

He  doth  not  like  this  virtue,  no ; 
Give  him  his  dirt  to  wallow  in  all  night: 
These  preachers  make 
His  head  to  shoot  and  ache. 
******** 

Indeed,  at  first  man  was  a  treasure, 
A  box  of  jewels,  shop  of  rarities, 

A  ring  whose  posy  was  "  My  pleasure  "  ; 
He  was  a  garden  in  a  Paradise ; 

Glory  and  grace 
Did  crown  his  heart  and  face. 

But  sin  hath  fool'd  him ;  now  he  is 
A  lump  of  flesh,  without  a  foot  or  wing 

To  raise  him  to  a  glimpse  of  bliss ; 
A  sick-toss'd  vessel,  dashing  on  each  thing, 
Nay,  his  own  self; 
My  God,  I  mean  myself. 

—  George  Herbert. 


TRANSLATION    OF  THE   TWENTY-THIRD 
PSALM. 

The  Lord  my  pasture  shall  prepare, 
And  feed  me  with  a  shepherd's  care ; 
His  presence  shall  my  wants  supply, 
And  guard  me  with  a  watchful  eye ; 
My  noonday  walks  he  shall  attend. 
And  all  my  midnight  hours  defend. 


RELIGIOUS  SONGS  AND  MELODIES.  307 

When  in  the  thirsty  glebe  I  faint, 
Or  on  the  thirsty  mountain  pant, 
To  fertile  vales  and  dewy  meads 
My  weary,  wand'ring  steps  he  leads; 
Where  peaceful  rivers,  soft  and  slow, 
Amid  the  verdant  landscape  flow. 

Though  in  the  paths  of  death  I  tread, 
With  gloomy  horrors  overspread. 
My  steadfast  heart  shall  feel  no  ill. 
For  thou,  O  Lord,  art  with  me  still ! 
Thy  friendly  crook  shall  give  me  aid. 
And  guide  me  through  the  dreadful  shade. 

Though  in  a  bare  and  rugged  way. 
Through  devious,  lonely  wilds  I  stray. 
Thy  bounty  shall  my  wants  beguile ; 
The  barren  wilderness  shall  smile. 
With  sudden  greens  and  herbage  crowned. 
And  streams  shall  murmur  all  around. 

—  Joseph  Addison. 


THE  DYING   CHRISTIAN   TO    HIS   SOUL. 

Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame  ! 
Quit,  oh,  quit  this  mortal  frame ! 
Trembling,  hoping,  lingering,  flying, 
Oh,  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying ! 
Cease,  fond  nature,  cease  thy  strife, 
And  let  me  languish  into  life. 


308  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Hark  !  they  whisper  ;  angels  say, 
"  Sister  spirit,  come  away  !  " 
What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite  ? 
Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight. 
Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath  ? 
Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes  ;  it  disappears ! 

Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes !     My  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring  : 

Lend,  lend  your  wings  !     I  mount !     I  fly  ! 

O  Grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

O  Death  !  where  is  thy  sting  ? 

—  Alexander  Pope. 


9- 
RESIGNATION. 

0  Lord  my  God,  do  thou  thy  holy  will  — 

I  will  lie  still  — 

1  will  not  stir,  lest  I  forsake  thine  arm, 

And  break  the  charm 
Which  lulls  me,  clinging  to  my  Father's  breast, 
In  perfect  rest. 

Wild  Fancy,  peace !  thou  must  not  me  beguile 

With  thy  false  smile  : 
I  know  thy  flatteries  and  thy  cheating  ways ; 

Be  silent,  Praise, 
Blind  guide  with  siren  voice,  and  blinding  all 

That  hear  thy  call. 


RELIGIOUS  SONGS  AND  MELODIES.  309 

Come,  Self-devotion,  high  and  pure. 
Thoughts  that  in  thankfulness  endure. 
Though  dearest  hopes  are  faithless  found, 
And  dearest  hearts  are  bursting  round. 
Come,  Resignation,  spirit  meek. 
And  let  me  kiss  thy  placid  cheek, 
And  read  in  thy  pale  eye  serene 
Their  blessing,  who  by  faith  can  wean 
Their  hearts  from  sense,  and  learn  to  love 
God  only,  and  the  joys  above. 
They  say,  who  know  the  life  divine, 
And  upward  gaze  with  eagle  eyne. 
That  by  each  golden  crown  on  high, 
Rich  with  celestial  jewelry. 
Which  for  our  Lord's  redeem'd  is  set. 
There  hangs  a  radiant  coronet, 
All  gemm'd  with  pure  and  living  light, 
Too  dazzling  for  a  sinner's  sight, 
Prepar'd  for  virgin  souls,  and  them 
Who  seek  the  martyr's  diadem. 

Nor  deem,  who  to  that  bliss  aspire, 

Must  win  their  way  through  blood  and  fire. 

The  writhings  of  a  wounded  heart 

Are  fiercer  than  a  foeman's  dart. 

Oft  in  Life's  stillest  shade  reclining. 

In  Desolation  unrepining. 

Without  a  hope  on  earth  to  find 

A  mirror  in  an  answering  mind. 

Meek  souls  there  are,  who  little  dream 

Their  daily  strife  an  Angel's  theme. 

Or  that  the  rod  they  take  so  calm 

Shall  prove  in  Heaven  a  martyr's  palm. 


310  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

And  there  are  souls  that  seem  to  dwell 

Above  this  earth  —  so  rich  a  spell 

Floats  round  their  steps,  where'er  they  move, 

From  hopes  fulfilled,  and  mutual  love. 

Such,  if  on  high  their  thoughts  are  set, 

Nor  in  the  stream  the  source  forget. 

If  prompt  to  quit  the  bliss  they  know, 

Following  the  Lamb  w^here'er  He  go, 

By  purest  pleasures  unbeguiled 

To  idolise  or  wife  or  child ; 

Such  wedded  souls  our  God  shall  own 

For  faultless  virgins  round  his  throne. 

Thus  everywhere  we  find  our  suffering  God, 

And  where  he  trod 
May  set  our  steps  :  the  Cross  on  Calvary 

Uplifted  high 
Beams  on  the  martyr  host,  a  beacon  light 

In  open  fight. 

To  the  still  wrestlings  of  the  lonely  heart 

He  doth  impart 
The  virtue  of  his  midnight  agony, 

When  none  was  nigh. 
Save  God  and  one  good  angel,  to  assuage 

The  tempest's  rage. 

Mortal !  if  life  smile  on  thee,  and  thou  find 

All  to  thy  mind. 
Think,  who  did  once  from  Heaven  to  Hell  descend. 

Thee  to  befriend  : 
So  shalt  thou  dare  forego,  at  his  dear  call, 

Thy  best,  thine  all. 


RELIGIOUS  SONGS  AND  MELODIES.  311 

"  O  Father  !  not  my  will,  but  thine  be  done  "  — 

So  spake  the  Son. 
Be  this  our  charm,  mellowing  Earth's  ruder  noise 

Of  griefs  and  joys  ; 

That  we  may  cling  forever  to  thy  breast 

In  perfect  rest ! 

—  John  Keble. 


ID. 

FROM  "THE  WATERFALL." 

Go  where  the  waters  fall, 

Sheer  from  the  mountain's  height  — 

Mark  how  a  thousand  streams  in  one, — 
One  in  a  thousand  on  they  fare, 

Now  flashing  to  the  sun, 

Now  still  as  beast  in  lair. 

Now  round  the  rock,  now  mounting  o'er, 
In  lawless  dance  they  win  their  way, 

Still  seeming  more  and  more 

To  swell  as  we  survey. 

They  rush  and  roar,  they  whirl  and  leap, 
Not  wilder  drives  the  wintry  storm. 
Yet  a  strong  law  they  keep, 
Strange  powers  their  course  inform. 

Even  so  the  mighty  skyborn  stream 
Its  living  waters  from  above. 

All  marred  and  broken  seem, 

No  union  and  no  love. 


312  CHOICE   ENGIJSH  LYRICS. 

Yet  in  dim  caves  they  softly  blend 
In  dreams  of  mortals  unespied  : 
One  is  their  awful  end, 
One  their  unfailing  Guide. 

—  John  Keble. 


n. 


THE  LILIES  OF  THE  FIELD. 

Sweet  nurslings  of  the  vernal  skies, 
Bathed  in  soft  airs,  and  fed  with  dew, 

What  more  than  magic  in  you  lies. 
To  fill  the  heart's  fond  view .'' 

In  childhood's  sports,  companions  gay, 

In  sorrow,  on  Life's  downward  way, 

How  soothing  !  in  our  last  decay 
Memorials  prompt  and  true. 

Relics  ye  are  of  Eden's  bowers, 
As  pure,  as  fragrant,  and  as  fair. 

As  when  ye  crowned  the  sunshine  hours 
Of  happy  wanderers  there. 

Fall'n  all  beside  —  the  world  of  life, 

How  it  is  stained  with  fear  and  strife ! 

In  Reason's  world  what  storms  are  rife. 
What  passions  range  and  glare  ! 

—  John  Keble. 


RELIGIOUS  SONGS  AND  MELODIES.  313 


CHRIST'S   COMING   TO   JERUSALEM    IN 
TRIUMPH. 

Lord,  come  away, 

Why  dost  thou  stay  ? 
Thy  road  is  ready :  and  thy  paths,  made  straight, 

With  longing  expectation  wait 
The  consecration  of  thy  beauteous  feet. 
Ride  on  triumphantly  ;  behold  we  lay 
Our  lusts  and  proud  wills  in  thy  way. 
Hosanna  !  welcome  to  our  hearts.     Lord,  here 
Thou  hast  a  temple  too,  and  full  as  dear 
As  that  of  Sion  ;  and  as  full  of  sin  ; 
Nothing  but  thieves  and  robbers  dwell  therein. 
Enter,  and  chase  them  forth,  and  cleanse  the  floor; 
Crucify  them,  that  they  may  never  more 

Profane  that  holy  place, 
Where  thou  hast  chose  to  set  thy  face. 
And  then  if  our  stiff  tongues  shall  be 
Mute  in  the  praises  of  thy  Deity, 

The  stones  out  of  the  temple  wall 

Shall  cry  aloud,  and  call 
Hosanna !  and  thy  glorious  footsteps  greet. 

—  Jeremy  Taylor. 

13- 
THE   LITANY. 

In  the  hour  of  my  distress. 
When  temptations  me  oppress, 
And  when  I  my  sins  confess. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 


314  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

When  I  lie  within  my  bed, 
Sick  in  heart,  and  sick  in  head, 
And  with  doubts  discomforted, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  house  doth  sigh  and  weep, 
And  the  world  is  drown'd  in  sleep, 
Yet  mine  eyes  the  watch  do  keep, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  artless  doctor  sees 
No  one  hope,  but  of  his  fees. 
And  his  skill  runs  on  the  lees. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me ! 

When  his  potion  and  his  pill, 
Has,  or  none,  or  little  skill, 
Meet  for  nothing  but  to  kill, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me ! 

When  the  passing-bell  doth  toll, 
And  the  furies  in  a  shoal 
Come  to  fright  a  parting  soul. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me ! 

When  the  tapers  now  burn  blue, 
And  the  comforters  are  few, 
And  that  number  more  than  true. 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me ! 

When  the  priest  his  last  hath  pray'd, 
And  I  nod  to  what  is  said, 
'Cause  my  speech  is  now  decay'd, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 


RELIGIOUS  SONGS  AND  MELODIES.  315 

When,  God  knows,  I'm  tost  about, 
Either  with  despair  or  doubt ; 
Yet,  before  the  glass  be  out. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  tempter  me  pursu'th 
With  the  sins  of  all  my  youth, 
And  half  damns  me  with  untruth, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  flames  and  hellish  cries 
Fright  mine  ears,  and  fright  mine  eyes. 
And  all  terrors  me  surprise. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  Judgment  is  reveal'd, 
And  that  open'd  which  was  seal'd ; 
When  to  Thee  I  have  appeal'd, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

—  Robert  Herrick. 


14. 

A   THANKSGIVING. 

Lord,  in  this  dust  thy  sovereign  voice 
First  quickened  love  divine  ; 
I  am  all  thine  —  thy  care  and  choice, 
My  very  praise  is  thine. 

I  praise  thee,  while  thy  providence 
In  childhood  frail  I  trace, 
For  blessings  given,  ere  dawning  sense 
Could  seek  or  scan  thy  grace ; 


316  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Blessings  in  boyhood's  marvelling  hour, 
Bright  dreams  and  fancyings  strange  ; 
Blessings,  when  reason's  awful  power 
Gave  thought  a  bolder  range  ; 

Blessings  of  friends,  which  to  my  door 
Unasked,  unhoped,  have  come  ; 
And  choicer  still,  a  countless  store 
Of  eager  smiles  at  home. 

Yet,  Lord,  in  memory's  fondest  place 
I  shrine  those  seasons  sad, 
When  looking  up,  I  saw  thy  face 
In  kind  austereness  clad. 

I  would  not  miss  one  sigh  or  tear, 
Heart-pang  or  throbbing  brow  ; 
Sweet  was  the  chastisement  severe, 
And  sweet  its  memory  now. 

Yes !  let  the  fragrant  scars  abide, 
Love-tokens  in  thy  stead, 
Faint  shadows  of  the  spcar-pierced  side, 
And  thorn-encompassed  head. 

And  such  thy  tender  force  be  still, 
When  self  would  swerve  or  stray. 
Shaping  to  truth  the  froward  will 
Along  thy  narrow  way. 

Deny  me  wealth  ;  far,  far  remove 
The  lure  of  power  or  name ; 
Hope  thrives  in  straits,  in  weakness  love. 
And  faith  in  this  world's  shame. 

—  John  Henry  Newman. 


RELIGIOUS  SONGS  AND  MELODIES.  317 

CHRIST  OUR  EXAMPLE. 

Lamb  of  God,  I  look  to  thee ; 
Thou  shalt  my  example  be ; 
Thou  art  gentle,  meek,  and  mild ; 
Thou  wast  once  a  little  child. 

Fain  I  would  be  as  thou  art ; 
Give  me  thy  obedient  heart ! 
Thou  art  pitiful  and  kind  ; 
Let  me  have  thy  loving  mind ! 

Meek  and  lowly  may  I  be ; 
Thou  art  all  humility  ! 
Let  me  to  my  betters  bow  ; 
Subject  to  thy  parents  thou. 

Let  me  above  all  fulfil 
God  my  heavenly  Father's  will ; 
Never  his  good  Spirit  grieve ; 
Only  to  his  glory  live ! 

Thou  didst  live  to  God  alone ; 
Thou  didst  never  seek  thine  own ; 
Thou  thyself  didst  never  please  ; 
God  was  all  thy  happiness. 

Loving  Jesu,  gentle  Lamb, 
In  thy  gracious  hands  I  am ; 
Make  me,  Saviour,  what  thou  art ! 
Live  thyself  within  my  heart ! 


318  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

I  shall  then  shew  forth  thy  praise ; 
Serve  thee  all  my  happy  days  ; 
Then  the  world  shall  always  see 
Christ,  the  Holy  Child,  in  me. 

—  Charles  Wesley. 


16. 

EASTER   HYMN. 

Christ  the  Lord  is  risen  to-day, 
Sons  of  men  and  angels  say  : 
Raise  your  joys  and  triumphs  high. 
Sing,  ye  heavens,  and  earth  reply. 

Love's  redeeming  work  is  done. 
Fought  the  fight,  the  battle  won  : 
Lo  !  our  Sun's  eclipse  is  o'er  ; 
Lo !  he  sets  in  blood  no  more. 

Vain  the  stone,  the  watch,  the  seal ; 
Christ  hath  burst  the  gates  of  hell ! 
Death  in  vain  forbids  his  rise ; 
Christ  hath  opened  Paradise ! 

Lives  again  our  glorious  King  : 
Where,  O  Death,  is  now  thy  sting  ? 
Once  he  died,  our  souls  to  save : 
Where  thy  victory,  O  Grave  } 

Soar  we  now  where  Christ  has  led, 
Following  our  exalted  Head  ; 


RELIGIOUS  SONGS  AND  MELODIES.  319 

Made  like  him,  like  him  we  rise ; 
Ours  the  cross,  the  grave,  the  skies. 

What  though  once  we  perished  all, 
Partners  in  our  parents,  fall  ? 
Second  life  we  all  receive. 
In  our  heavenly  Adam  live. 

Risen  with  him,  we  upward  move ; 
Still  we  seek  the  things  above ; 
Still  pursue,  and  kiss  the  Son 
Seated  on  his  Father's  throne. 

Scarce  on  earth  a  thought  bestow, 
Dead  to  all  we  leave  below ; 
Heav'n  our  aim,  and  loved  abode, 
Hid  our  life  with  Christ  in  God  : 

Hid,  till  Christ  our  Life  appear 
Glorious  in  his  members  here ; 
Join'd  to  him,  we  then  shall  shine, 
All  immortal,  all  divine. 

Hail  the  Lord  of  Earth  and  Heaven! 
Praise  to  thee  by  both  be  given ! 
Thee  we  greet  triumphant  now  ! 
Hail,  the  Resurrection  thou ! 

King  of  glory,  Soul  of  bliss  ! 
Everlasting  life  is  this, 
Thee  to  know,  thy  power  to  prove. 
Thus  to  sing,  and  thus  to  love  ! 

—  Charles  Wesley. 


320  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

17- 
AN    HYMN    FOR   SERIOUSNESS. 

Thou  God  of  glorious  majesty, 
To  thee  against  myself,  to  thee 

A  worm  of  earth  I  cry. 
An  half-awakened  child  of  man, 
An  heir  of  endless  bliss  or  pain, 

A  sinner  born  to  die. 

Lo !  on  a  narrow  neck  of  land, 
'Twixt  two  unbounded  seas  I  stand 

Secure,  insensible  : 
A  point  of  life,  a  moment's  space 
Removes  me  to  that  heavenly  place, 

Or  shuts  me  up  in  hell. 

O  God,  mine  inmost  soul  convert, 
And  deeply  on  my  thoughtful  heart 

Eternal  things  impress. 
Give  me  to  feel  their  solemn  weight, 
And  tremble  on  the  brink  of  fate, 

And  wake  to  righteousness. 

Before  me  place  in  dread  array 
The  pomp  of  that  tremendous  day, 

When  thou  with  clouds  shalt  come 
To  judge  the  nations  at  thy  bar  : 
And  tell  me,  Lord,  shall  I  be  there 

To  meet  a  joyful  doom  } 

Be  this  my  one  great  business  here, 
With  serious  industry,  and  fear, 
My  future  bliss  to  insure, 


RELIGIOUS  SONGS  AND  MELODIES.  321 

Thine  utmost  counsel  to  fulfil, 
And  suffer  all  thy  righteous  will, 
And  to  the  end  endure. 

Then,  Saviour,  then  my  soul  receive, 

Transported  from  the  vale,  to  live 

And  reign  with  thee  above, 

Where  faith  is  sweetly  lost  in  sight. 

And  hope  in  full  supreme  delight. 

And  everlasting  love. 

—  John  Wesley. 


nDi0ccIIancou6  Xvn1c6, 


Poetry  makes  imviortal  all  tJint  is  best  and  most  beautiful  in  tJie 
world;  it  arrests  tlie  vanisliing  apparitions  ivhick  haunt  the  inter- 
lutiations  of  life,  and  veiling  them  or  in  language  or  in  form,  sends 
t he /n  forth  among  mankind,  bearing  sweet  news  of  kindred  Joy  to 
those  with  whom  their  sisters  abide  —  abide,  because  there  is  no 
portal  of  expression  from  the  caverns  of  the  spirit  which  they  inhabit 
into  the  universe  of  things.  Poetry  redeons  from  decay  the  visita- 
tions of  the  divinity  in  man.  —  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


I. 

SONGS    FROM    "THE    PRINCESS." 

I. 

Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea  — 
Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow. 

Wind  of  the  western  sea  ! 
Over  the  rolling-  waters  go, 
Come  from  the  dying  moon,  and  blow, 

Blow  him  again  to  nie  : 
While  my  little  one,  while  my  pretty  one,  sleeps. 
322 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  323 

Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 
Rest,  rest,  on  mother's  breast. 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 
Father  will  come  to  his  babe  in  the  nest, 
Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west 

Under  the  silver  moon  : 
Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep,  my  pretty  one,  sleep. 


II. 

The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story : 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes. 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying. 
Blow,  bugle ;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 


O  hark !  O  hear,  how  thin  and  clear. 

And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going  ! 
O  sweet  and  far  from  cliff  and  scar 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing ! 
Blow,  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying ; 
Blow,  bugle ;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

O  love !  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky. 

They  faint  on  hill  or  field  or  river : 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul. 
And  grow  for  ever  and  for  ever. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying, 
And  answer,  echoes,  answer,  dying,  dying,  dying. 


324  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

III. 

Ask  me  no  more :  the  moon  may  draw  the  sea ; 

The  cloud  may  stoop  from  heaven  and  take  the  shape, 
With  fold  to  fold,  of  mountain  or  of  cape ; 

But  O  too  fond,  when  have  I  answer'd  thee  ? 
Ask  me  no  more. 

Ask  mc  no  more :  what  answer  should  I  give  ? 
I  love  not  hollow  cheek  or  faded  eye : 
Yet,  O  my  friend,  I  will  not  have  thee  die ! 

Ask  me  no  more,  lest  I  should  bid  thee  live ; 
Ask  me  no  more. 

Ask  me  no  more  :  thy  fate  and  mine  are  seal'd : 
I  strove  against  the  stream  and  all  in  vain : 
Let  the  great  river  take  me  to  the  main : 

No  more,  dear  love,  for  at  a  touch  I  yield ; 
Ask  me  no  more. 

IV. 

Home  they  brought  her  warrior  dead : 
She  nor  swoon'd,  nor  utter'd  cry. 

All  her  maidens,  watching,  said, 
"  She  must  weep,  or  she  will  die." 

Then  they  praised  him,  soft  and  low, 

Call'd  him  worthy  to  be  loved. 
Truest  friend  and  noblest  foe  ; 

Yet  she  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

Stole  a  maiden  from  her  place. 

Lightly  to  the  warrior  stept, 
Took  the  face-cloth  from  the  face ; 

Yet  she  neither  moved  nor  wept. 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  325 

Rose  a  nurse  of  ninety  years, 

Set  his  child  upon  her  knee  — 
Like  summer  tempest  came  her  tears  — 

"  Sweet  my  child,  I  live  for  thee." 

—  Alfred  Tennyson. 


MUSIC. 


Charm  me  asleep,  and  melt  me  so 

With  thy  delicious  numbers, 
That  being  ravish'd,  hence  I  go 
Away  in  easy  slumbers. 
Ease  my  sick  head. 
And  make  my  bed. 
Thou  Power  that  canst  sever 
From  me  this  ill ;  — 
And  quickly  still. 
Though  thou  not  kill 
My  fever. 

Thou  sweetly  canst  convert  the  same 

From  a  consuming  fire, 
Into  a  gentle-licking  flame. 
And  make  it  thus  expire. 
Then  make  me  weep 
My  pains  asleep, 
And  give  me  such  reposes, 
That  I,  poor  I, 
May  think,  thereby, 
I  live  and  die 
'Mongst  roses. 


326  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Fall  on  me  like  a  silent  dew, 

Or  like  those  maiden  showers, 
Which,  by  the  peep  of  day,  do  strew 
A  baptism  o'er  the  flowers. 

Melt,  melt  my  pains 

With  thy  soft  strains ; 
That  having  ease  me  given. 

With  full  delight, 

I  leave  this  light. 

And  take  my  flight 

For  Heaven. 

—  Robert  Herrick. 


3- 
PRAISE   OF    MUSIC. 

When  whispering  strains  do  softly  steal 

With  creeping  passion  through  the  heart. 
And  wlicn  at  ev'ry  touch  we  feel 
Our  pulses  beat  and  bear  a  part ; 
When  threads  can  make 
A  heart-string  quake, 
Philosophy 
Can  scarce  deny 
The  soul  consists  of  harmony. 

Oh  lull  me,  lull  me,  charming  air, 

My  sense  is  rock'd  with  wonder  sweet ! 
Like  snow  on  wool  thy  fallings  are  — 
Soft  like  a  spirit's  are  thy  feet. 
Grief  who  need  fear 
That  hath  an  ear .-' 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  327 

Down  let  him  lie, 
And  slumb'ring  die, 
And  change  his  soul  for  harmony. 

—  William  Strode. 

♦ 

4- 
THE   SPIRIT   OF    DELIGHT. 

Rarely,  rarely  comest  thou, 

Spirit  of  Delight ! 
Wherefore  hast  thou  left  me  now 

Many  a  day  and  night  ? 
Many  a  weary  night  and  day 
'Tis  since  thou  art  fled  away. 

How  shall  ever  one  like  me 

Win  thee  back  again  } 
With  the  joyous  and  the  free, 

Thou  wilt  scoff  at  pain. 
Spirit  false  !  thou  hast  forgot 
All  but  those  who  need  thee  not. 

As  a  lizard  with  the  shade 

Of  a  trembling  leaf, 
Thou-with  sorrow  art  dismayed ; 

Even  the  sighs  of  grief 
Reproach  thee  that  thou  art  not  near, 
And  reproach  thou  wilt  not  hear.- 

Let  me  set  my  mournful  ditty 

To  a  merry  measure;  — 
Thou  wilt  never  come  for  pity, 

Thou  wilt  come  for  pleasure ; 


328  CHOICE   EXGLISH  LYRICS. 

Pity  then  will  cut  away 

Those  cruel  wings,  and  thou  wilt  stay. 

I  love  all  that  thou  Invest, 

Spirit  of  Delight ! 
The  fresh  earth  in  new  leaves  dressed. 

And  the  starry  night, 
Autumn  evening,  and  the  morn 
When  the  golden  mists  are  born. 

I  love  snow,  and  all  the  forms 

Of  the  radiant  frost ; 
I  love  waves  and  winds  and  storms,  — 

Everything  almost 
Which  is  Nature's,  and  may  be 
Untainted  by  man's  misery. 

I  love  tranquil  solitude, 

And  such  society 
As  is  quiet,  wise,  and  good. 

Between  thee  and  me 
What  difference  .-*     But  thou  dost  possess 
The  things  I  seek,  not  love  them  less. 

I  love  Love,  though  he  has  wings, 

And  like  light  can  flee  ; 
But  above  all  other  things. 

Spirit,  I  love  thee  — 
Thou  art  love  and  life !     Oh,  come  ! 
Make  once  more  my  heart  thy  home! 

—  Pekcv  Bvssiie  Siiellky. 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  11^ 

5- 
TO    ECHO. 

Sweet  Echo,  sweetest  nymph,  that  liv'st  unseen 
Within  thy  aery  shell, 
By  slow  Meander's  margent  green, 
And  in  the  violet-embroider'd  vale. 

Where  the  love-lorn  nightingale 
Nightly  to  thee  her  sad  song  mourneth  well; 
Canst  thou  not  tell  me  of  a  gentle  pair 
That  likest  thy  Narcissus  are  ? 
Oh  if  thou  have 
Hid  them  in  some  flowery  cave, 

Tell  me  but  where. 
Sweet  queen  of  parley,  daughter  of  the  sphere ! 
So  may'st  thou  be  translated  to  the  skies. 
And  give  resounding  grace  to  all  Heaven's  harmonies. 

—  John  Milton. 


THE   FAIRY   QUEEN. 

Come  follow,  follow  me, 
You  fairy  elves  that  be : 
Which  circle  on  the  greene, 
Come  follow  Mab  your  queene. 
Hand  in  hand  let's  dance  around, 
For  this  place  is  fairye  ground. 

When  mortals  arc  at  rest, 
And  snoring  in  their  nest ; 
Unheard,  and  unespy'd. 
Through  key-holes  we  do  glide ; 


330  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Over  tables,  stools,  and  shelves, 
We  trip  it  with  our  fairy  elves. 

Upon  a  nnishroome's  head 
Our  table-cloth  we  spread  ; 
A  grain  of  rye,  or  wheat, 
Is  manchet,  which  we  eat; 
Pearly  drops  of  dew  we  drink, 
In  acorn  cups  fill'd  to  the  brink. 

The  brains  of  nightingales, 
With  unctuous  fat  of  snailes, 
Between  two  cockles  stew'd, 
Is  meat  that's  easily  chew'd  ; 
Tailes  of  wormes,  and  marrow  of  mice, 
Do  make  a  dish  that's  wondrous  nice. 


The  grasshopper,  gnat,  and  fly, 

Serve  for  our  minstrelsie  ; 

Grace  said,  we  dance  a  while, 

And  so  the  time  beguile  : 
And  if  the  moon  doth  hide  her  head. 
The  gloe-worm  lights  us  home  to  bed. 

On  tojis  of  dewie  grasse 

So  nimbly  do  we  passe, 

The  young  and  tender  stalk 

Ne'er  bends  when  we  do  walk : 
Yet  in  the  morning  may  be  seen 
Where  wc  the  night  before  have  been. 

—  Anonvmous. 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  331 

7- 

AS    I    LAYE   A-THYNKYNGE. 

i^Iast  Lines  of  Thomas  lui^oldsby.^ 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkyngc,  a-thynkynge, 
Merrie  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  spraye ; 

There  came  a  noble  Knyghte, 

With  his  hauberke  shynynge  brighte, 

And  his  gallant  heart  was  lyghte, 
Free  and  gaye ; 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  he  rode  upon  his  waye. 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
Sadly  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  tree ! 

There  seemed  a  crimson  plain. 

Where  a  gallant  Knyghte  lay  slayne, 

And  a  steed  with  broken  rein 
Ran  free. 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  most  pitiful  to  see. 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
Merrie  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  boughe ; 

A  lovely  Mayde  came  bye, 

And  a  gentil  Youth  came  nighe 

And  he  breathed  many  a  syghe 
And  a  vowe ; 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  her  heart  was  gladsome  now. 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkyngc,  a-thynkynge, 
Sadly  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  thorne ; 

No  more  a  Youth  was  there, 

But  a  Maiden  rent  her  haire, 


332  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

And  cried  in  sad  dcspaire, 

"  That  I  was  borne  !  " 
As  I  lay  a-thynkynge,  she  perished  forlorne. 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 
Sweetly  sang  the  Birde  as  she  sat  upon  the  briar ; 

There  came  a  lovely  Childe, 

And  his  face  was  meek  and  milde, 

Yet  joyously  he  smiled 
On  his  Sire ; 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a  Cherub  mote  admire. 

But  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge. 
And  sadly  sang  the  Birde  as  it  perched  upon  a  bier ; 

That  joyous  smile  was  gone, 

And  the  face  was  white  and  wan, 

As  the  downe  upon  the  Swan 
Doth  appear. 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge  —  O  !  bitter  flowed  the  tear ! 

As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  the  golden  sun  was  sinking, 
Oh  merrie  sang  that  Birde  as  it  glittered  on  her  breast, 

With  a  thousand  gorgeous  dyes. 

While  soaring  to  the  skies, 

'Mid  the  stars  she  seemed  to  rise. 
As  to  her  nest ; 
As  I  laye  a-thynkynge,  her  meaning  was  exprest:  — 

"  Follow,  follow  me  away, 

It  boots  not  to  delay,"  — 

'Twas  so  she  seemed  to  saye, 

"  Here  is  Rest!  " 

—  R.  H.  Barham. 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  333 

8. 

THE    PALM-TREE   AND    THE    PINE. 

Beneath  an  Indian  palm  a  girl 
Of  other  blood  reposes  ; 
Her  cheek  is  clear  and  pale  as  pearl, 
Amid  that  wild  of  roses. 

Beside  a  northern  pine  a  boy 
Is  leaning  fancy-bound, 
Nor  listens  where  with  noisy  joy 
Awaits  the  impatient  hound. 

Cool  grows  the  sick  and  feverish  calm, 
Relaxt  the  frosty  twine  ; 
The  pine-tree  dreameth  of  the  palm, 
The  palm-tree  of  the  pine. 

As  soon  shall  nature  interlace 

Those  dimly-visioned  boughs. 

As  these  young  lovers  face  to  face 

Renew  their  early  vows. 

—  Lord  Houghton. 


9- 

THE   SANDS   OF    DEE. 

"  O  Mary,  go  and  call  the  cattle  home, 
And  call  the  cattle  home. 
And  call  the  cattle  home, 
Across  the  sands  of  Dee. " 
The  western  wind  was  wild  and  dank  with  foam, 
And  all  alone  went  she. 


334  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

The  creeping  tide  crept  up  along  the  sand, 
And  o'er  and  o'er  the  sand, 
And  round  and  round  the  sand, 
As  far  as  eye  could  see. 
The  blinding  mist  came  down,  and  hid  the  land :    * 
And  never  home  came  she. 

"  Oh  !  is  it  weed,  or  fish,  or  floating  hair  — 
A  tress  of  golden  hair, 
A  drowned  maiden's  hair, 
Above  the  nets  at  sea  .'* 
Was  never  salmon  yet  that  shone  so  fair 
Among  the  stakes  on  Dee." 

They  rowed  her  in  across  the  rolling  foam, 

The  cruel  crawling  foam, 

The  cruel  hungry  foam, 

To  her  grave  beside  the  sea  : 

But  still  the  boatmen  hear  her  call  the  cattle  home 

Across  the  sands  of  Dee. 

—  Charles  Kingsley. 


KUBLA    KHAN. 

In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 
A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree  : 
Where  Alph,  the  sacred  river,  ran 
Through  caverns  measureless  to  man 
Down  to  a  sunless  sea. 
So  twice  five  miles  of  fertile  ground 
With  walls  and  towers  were  girdled  round 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  335 

And  here  were  gardens  bright  with  sinuous  rills 
Where  blossomed  many  an  incense-bearing  tree ; 
And  here  were  forests  ancient  as  the  hills, 
Enfolding  sunny  spots  of  greenery. 

But  oh !  that  deep  romantic  chasm  which  slanted 

Down  the  green  hill  athwart  a  cedarn  cover ! 

A  savage  place !  as  holy  and  enchanted 

As  e'er  beneath  a  waning  moon  was  haunted 

By  woman  wailing  for  her  demon-lover ! 

And  from  this  chasm,  with  ceaseless  turmoil  seething, 

As  if  this  earth  in  fast  thick  pants  were  breathing, 

A  mighty  fountain  momently  was  forced : 

Amid  whose  swift  half-intermitted  burst 

Huge  fragments  vaulted  like  rebounding  hail. 

Or  chaffy  grain  beneath  the  thresher's  flail: 

And  'mid  those  dancing  rocks  at  once  and  ever 

It  flung  up  momently  the  sacred  river, 

Five  miles  meandering  with  a  mazy  motion 

Through  wood  and  dale  the  sacred  river  ran, 

Then  reached  the  caverns  measureless  to  man, 

And  sank  in  tumult  to  a  lifeless  ocean  : 

And  'mid  this  tumult  Kubla  heard  from  far 

Ancestral  voices  prophesying  war  ! 

The  shadow  of  the  dome  of  pleasure 

Floated  midway  on  the  waves ; 

Where  was  heard  the  mingled  measure 

From  the  fountain  and  the  caves. 
It  was  a  miracle  of  rare  device, 
A  sunny  pleasure-dome  with  caves  of  ice ! 

A  damsel  with  a  dulcimer 
In  a  vision  once  I  saw  : 


336  CHOICE  ENGLISH  lYI'ICS. 

It  was  an  Abyssinian  maid, 

And  on  her  dulcimer  she  played, 

Singing  of  Mount  Abora. 

Could  I  revive  within  me 

Her  symphony  and  song, 

To  such  a  deep  delight  'twould  win  me, 

That  with  music  loud  and  long, 

I  would  build  that  dome  in  air, 

That  sunny  dome  !  those  caves  of  ice  ! 

And  all  who  heard  should  see  them  there. 

And  all  should  cry.  Beware  !   Beware  ! 

His  flashing  eyes,  his  floating  hair, 

Weave  a  circle  round  him  thrice. 

And  close  your  eyes  with  holy  dread. 
For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed, 
And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise. 

—  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 


TO   A    LADY,   WITH   A   GUITAR. 

Ariel  to  Miranda  :  —  Take 

This  slave  of  music,  for  the  sake 

Of  him,  who  is  the  slave  of  thee ; 

And  teach  it  all  the  harmony 

In  which  thou  canst,  and  only  thou, 

Make  the  delighted  spirit  glow. 

Till  joy  denies  itself  again. 

And,  too  intense,  is  turned  to  pain. 

For,  by  permission  and  command 

Of  thine  own  Prince  P'erdinand, 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  337 

Poor  Ariel  sends  this  silent  token 
Of  more  than  ever  can  be  spoken ; 
Your  guardian  spirit  Ariel,  who 
From  life  to  life  must  still  pursue 
Your  happiness,  for  thus  alone 
Can  Ariel  ever  find  his  own. 
From  Prospero's  enchanted  cell, 
As  the  mighty  verses  tell, 
To  the  throne  of  Naples  he 
Lit  you  o'er  the  trackless  sea, 
Flitting  on,  your  prow  before, 
Like  a  living  meteor. 

When  you  die,  the  silent  Moon 

In  her  interlunar  swoon 

Is  not  sadder  in  her  cell 

Than  deserted  Ariel. 

When  you  live  again  on  earth,  — 

Like  an  unseen  star  of  birth, 

Ariel  guides  you  o'er  the  sea 

Of  life  from  your  nativity. 

Many  changes  have  been  run 

Since  Ferdinand  and  you  begun 

Your  course  of  love,  and  Ariel  still 

Has  tracked  your  steps  and  served  your  will. 

Now,  in  humbler,  happier  lot. 

This  is  all  remembered  not ; 

And  now,  alas !  the  poor  Sprite  is 

Imprisoned  for  some  fault  of  his 

In  a  body  like  a  grave  : 

From  you  he  only  dares  to  crave, 

For  his  service  and  his  sorrow, 

A  smile  to-day,  a  song  to-morrow. 

Y 


338  CHOICE   ENGL/SH   LYRICS. 

The  artist  who  this  idol  wrought, 

To  echo  all  harmonious  thought, 

Felled  a  tree  while  on  the  steep 

The  woods  were  in  their  winter  sleep, 

Rocked  in  that  repose  divine 

On  the  wind-swept  Apennine, 

And  dreaming,  some  of  Autumn  past, 

And  some  of  Spring  approaching  fast, 

And  some  of  April  buds  and  showers, 

And  some  of  songs  in  July  bowers, 

And  all  of  love.     And  so  this  tree  — 

Oh,  that  such  our  death  may  be  !  — 

Died  in  sleep,  and  felt  no  pain, 

To  live  in  happier  form  again : 

From  which,  beneath  heaven's  fairest  star 

The  artist  wrought  this  loved  Guitar, 

And  taught  it  justly  to  reply, 

To  all  who  question  skilfully. 

In  language  gentle  as  thine  own ; 

Whispering  in  enamored  tone 

Sweet  oracles  of  woods  and  dells. 

And  summer  winds  in  sylvan  cells. 

For  it  had  learnt  all  harmonics 

Of  the  plains  and  of  the  skies. 

Of  the  forests  and  the  mountains, 

And  the  many-voiced  fountains  ; 

The  clearest  echoes  of  the  hills. 

The  softest  notes  of  falling  rills, 

The  melodies  of  birds  and  bees. 

The  murmuring  of  summer  seas, 

And  pattering  rain,  and  breathing  dew, 

And  airs  of  evening ;  and  it  knew 

That  seldom-heard  mysterious  sound 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  339 

Which,  driven  on  its  diurnal  round, 
As  it  floats  through  boundless  day. 
Our  world  enkindles  on  its  way  : 
—  All  this  it  knows,  but  will  not  tell 
To  those  who  cannot  question  well 
The  spirit  that  inhabits  it ; 
It  talks  according  to  the  wit 
Of  its  companions ;  and  no  more 
Is  heard  than  has  been  felt  before 
By  those  who  tempt  it  to  betray 
These  secrets  of  an  elder  day. 
But,  sweetly  as  its  answers  will 
Flatter  hands  of  perfect  skill, 
It  keeps  its  highest,  holiest  tone 
For  one  beloved  Friend  alone. 

—  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


12. 

DAVID   PLAYING    BEFORE   SAUL. 

Then  I  tuned  my  harp,  —  took  off  the  lilies  we  twine 

round  its  chords 
Lest   they  snap  'neath    the    stress  of   the    noontide  — 

those  sunbeams  like  swords  ! 
And  I  first  played  the  tune  all  our  sheep  know,  as,  one 

after  one. 
So    docile   they  come    to   the   pen-door   till  folding  be 

done. 
They  are  white  and  untorn  by  the  bushes,  for  lo,  they 

have  fed 
Where    the    long    grasses  stifle  the   water    within    the 

stream's  bed ; 


340  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

And  now  one  after  one  seeks  its  lodging,  as  star  follows 

star 
Into  eve  and  the  blue  far  above  us,  —  so  blue  and  so 

far! 

—  Then  the  tune,  for  which  quails  on  the  cornland  will 

each  leave  his  mate 
To  fly  after  the  player ;  then,  what  makes  the  crickets 

elate 
Till  for  boldness  they  fight   one    another:    and    then, 

what  has  weight 
To    set   the    quick   jerboa    a-musing   outside    his   sand 

house  — 
There  are  none  such  as  he  for  a  wonder,  half  bird  and 

half  mouse  ! 
God  made  all  the  creatures  and  gave  them  our  love  and 

our  fear, 
To  give  sign,  we  and  they  are  his  children,  one  family 

here. 

Then  I  played  the  help-tune  of  our  reapers,  their  wine- 
song,  when  hand 
Grasps  at  hand,  eye  lights  eye  in  good  friendship,  and 

great  hearts  expand 
And  grow  one  in  the  sense  of  this  world's  life.  —  Then, 

the  last  song 
When  the  dead  man  is  praised  on  his  jouney  —  "  Bear, 

bear  him  along 
With  his  few  thoughts  shut  up  like  dead  flowerets !  Are 

balm  seeds  not  here 
To  console  us }     The  land  has  none  left  such  as  he  on 

the  bier. 
Oh,  would  wc   might  keep  thee,   my  brother!" — And 

then,  the  glad  chaunt 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  341 

Of  the  marriage,  —  first  go  the  young  maidens,  next,  she 

whom  we  vaunt 
As  the  beauty,  the  pride  of  our  dwelling.  —  And  then, 

the  great  march 
Wherein  man  runs  to  man  to  assist  him  and  buttress  an 

arch 
Nought  can  break ;  who  shall  harm  them,  our  friends  ? 

Then,  the  chorus  intoned 
As  the  Levites  go  up  to  the  altar  in  glory  enthroned. 
But    I    stopped    here :    for    here  in  the  darkness  Saul 


groaned. 


—  Robert  Browning. 


13- 
STANZAS    FROM    "WINE   OF   CYPRUS." 

Go,  —  let  others  praise  the  Chian ! 

This  is  soft  as  Muses'  string, 
This  is  tawny  as  Rhea's  lion. 

This  is  rapid  as  his  spring, 
Bright  as  Paphia's  eyes  e'er  met  us, 

Light  as  ever  trod  her  feet ; 
And  the  brown  bees  of  Hymettus 

Make  their  honey  not  so  sweet. 

Very  copious  are  my  praises, 

Though  I  sip  it  like  a  fly ! 
Ah  —  but,  sipping,  — times  and  places 

Change  before  me  suddenly  : 
As  Ulysses'  old  libation 

Drew  the  ghosts  from  every  part. 
So  your  Cyprus  wine,  dear  Grecian, 

Stirs  the  Hades  of  my  heart. 


342  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

And  I  think  of  those  long  mornings 

Which  my  thoughts  go  far  to  seek, 
When,  betwixt  the  folio's  turnings. 

Solemn  flowed  the  rhythmic  Greek : 
Past  the  pane  the  mountain  spreading, 

Swept  the  sheep-bells'  tinkling  noise, 
While  a  girlish  voice  was  reading, 

Somewhat  low  for  ats  and  o<s. 


Then,  what  golden  hours  were  for  us ! 

While  we  sat  together  there. 
How  the  white  vests  of  the  chorus 

Seemed  to  wave  up  a  live  air  ! 
How  the  cothurns  trod  majestic 

Down  the  deep  iambic  lines. 
And  the  rolling  anapaestic 

Curled  like  vapor  over  shrines  ! 

Oh,  our  /Eschylus,  the  thunderous. 

How  he  drove  the  bolted  breath 
Through  the  cloud,  to  wedge  it  ponderous 

In  the  gnarled  oak  beneath ! 
Oh,  our  Sophocles,  the  royal, 

Who  was  born  to  monarch's  place, 
And  who  made  the  whole  world  loyal. 

Less  by  kingly  power  than  grace ! 

Our  Euripides,  the  human. 

With  his  droppings  of  warm  tears. 

And  his  touches  of  things  common 
Till  they  rose  to  touch  the  spheres ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  343 

Our  Theocritus,  our  Bion, 

And  our  Pindar's  shining  goals  !  — 
These  were  cup-bearers  undying, 

Of  the  wine  that's  meant  for  souls. 

—  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


14. 
ODE   ON   A   GRECIAN   URN. 

Thou  still  unravished  bride  of  quietness ! 

Thou  foster-child  of  Silence  and  slow  Time, 
Sylvan  historian,  who  canst  thus  express 

A  flowery  tale  more  sweetly  than  our  rhyme. 
What  leaf-fringed  legend  haunts  about  thy  shape 

Of  deities  or  mortals,  or  of  both. 
In  Tempe  or  the  dales  of  Arcady .-' 

What  men  or  gods  are  these .-'  what  maidens  loath } 
What  mad  pursuit .-'     What  struggle  to  escape  .-' 

What  pipes  and  timbrels  .-'     What  wild  ecstasy  .•' 

deard  melodies  are  sweet,  but  those  unheard 

Are  sweeter ;  therefore,  ye  soft  pipes,  play  on ; 
Not  to  the  sensual  ear,  but,  more  endeared, 

Pipe  to  the  spirit  ditties  of  no  tone ; 
Fair  youth  beneath  the  trees,  thou  canst  not  leave 

Thy  song,  nor  ever  can  those  trees  be  bare ; 
Bold  Lover,  never,  never  canst  thou  kiss, 
Though  winning  near  the  goal  —  yet,  do  not  grieve; 
She  cannot  fade,  though  thou  hast  not  thy  bliss. 

For  ever  wilt  thou  love,  and  she  be  fair ! 


344  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Ah,  happy,  happy  boughs  !  that  cannot  shed 

Your  leaves,  nor  ever  bid  the  Spring  adieu ; 
And,  happy  melodist,  unwearied. 

For  ever  piping  songs  for  ever  new ; 
More  happy  love  !  more  happy,  happy  love ! 

For  ever  warm  and  still  to  be  enjoyed. 
For  ever  panting  and  for  ever  young ; 
All  breathing  human  passion  far  above. 

That  leaves  a  heart  high  sorrowful  and  cloyed, 
A  burning  forehead,  and  a  parching  tongue, 

Who  are  these  coming  to  the  sacrifice  ? 

To  what  green  altar,  O  mysterious  priest, 
Lead'st  thou  that  heifer  lowing  at  the  skies. 

And  all  her  silken  flanks  with  garlands  drest  ? 
What  little  town  by  river  or  sea-shore. 

Or  mountain-built  with  peaceful  citadel. 
Is  emptied  of  its  folk,  this  pious  morn? 
And,  little  town,  thy  streets  for  evermore 

Will  silent  be  ;  and  not  a  soul  to  tell 
Why  thou  art  desolate,  can  e'er  return. 

O  Attic  shape  !     Fair  attitude  !  with  brede 

Of  marble  men  and  maidens  overwrought. 
With  forest  branches  and  the  trodden  weed ; 

Thou,  silent  form  !  dost  tease  us  out  of  thought 
As  doth  eternity  :  Cold  Pastoral ! 

When  old  age  shall  this  generation  waste. 

Thou  shalt  remain,  in  midst  of  other  woe 
Than  ours,  a  friend  to  man,  to  whom  thou  say'st, 
"  Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty,"  — that  is  all 
Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know. 

—  John  Keats. 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  345 

15- 

INVOCATION   TO  THE   SPIRIT   OF 
ACHILLES. 

Beautiful  shadow 

Of  Thetis's  boy ! 
Who  sleeps  in  the  meadow 

Whose  grass  grows  o'er  Troy : 
From  the  red  earth,  like  Adam, 

Thy  likeness  I  shape. 
As  the  being  who  made  him, 

Whose  actions  I  ape. 
Thou  clay,  be  all  glowing, 

Till  the  rose  in  his  cheek 
Be  as  fair  as,  when  blowing, 

It  wears  its  first  streak ! 
Ye  violets,  I  scatter. 

Now  turn  into  eyes ! 
And  thou,  sunshiny  water, 

Of  blood  take  the  guise ! 
Let  these  hyacinth  boughs 

Be  his  long  flowing  hair. 
And  wave  o'er  his  brows 

As  thou  wavest  in  air ! 
Let  his  heart  be  this  marble 

I  tear  from  the  rock ! 
But  his  voice  as  the  warble 

Of  birds  on  yon  oak ! 
Let  his  flesh  be  the  purest 

Of  mould,  in  which  grew 
The  lily-root  surest. 

And  drank  the  best  dew ! 


346  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Let  his  limbs  be  the  lightest 

Which  clay  can  compound, 
And  his  aspect  the  brightest 

On  earth  to  be  found ! 
Elements,  near  me, 

Be  mingled  and  stirr'd, 
Know  me,  and  hear  me, 

And  leap  to  my  word ! 
Sunbeams,  awaken 

This  earth's  animation ! 

*Tis  done  !     He  hath  taken 

His  stand  in  creation ! 

—  Lord  Byron. 


16. 

CORINNA,    FROM    ATHENS,   TO  TANAGRA. 

Tanagka  !  think  not  I  forget 

Thy  beautifully-stoned  streets ; 
Be  sure  my  memory  bathes  yet 

In  dear  Thermodon,  and  yet  greets 
The  blithe  and  liberal  Shepherd  boy. 
Whose  sunny  bosom  swells  with  joy 
When  we  accept  his  matted  rushes 
Upheaved   with    sylvan  fruits;    away  he   bounds   and 

blushes. 

I  promise  to  bring  back  with  me 

What  thou  with  transport  will  receive, 

The  only  proper  gift  for  thee, 
Of  which  no  mortal  shall  bereave 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  347 

In  later  times  thy  mouldering  walls, 
Until  the  last  old  turret  falls ; 
A  crown,  a  crown  from  Athens  won, 
A  crown  no  god  can  wear,  beside  Latona's  son. 

There  may  be  cities  who  refuse 

To  their  own  child  the  honors  due, 
And  look  ungently  on  the  Muse ; 
But  ever  shall  those  cities  rue 
The  dry,  unyielding,  niggard  breast, 
Offering  no  nourishment,  no  rest. 
To  that  young  head  which  soon  shall  rise 
Disdainfully,  in  might  and  glory,  to  the  skies. 

Sweetly  where  caverned  Dirce  flows 

Do  white-armed  maidens  chaunt  my  lay, 
Flapping  the  while  with  laurel-rose 

The  honey-gathering  tribes  away  ; 
And  sweetly,  sweetly,  Attic  tongues 
Lisp  your  Corinna's  early  songs ; 
To  her  with  feet  more  graceful  come 
The  verses  that  have  dwelt  in  kindred  breasts  at  home. 

Oh,  let  thy  children  lean  aslant 

Against  the  tender  mother's  knee, 
And  gaze  into  her  face,  and  want 

To  know  what  magic  there  can  be 
In  words  that  urge  some  eyes  to  dance, 
While  others  as  in  holy  trance 
Look  up  to  heaven  ;  be  such  my  praise  ! 
Why  linger }     I  must  haste,  or  lose  the  Delphic  bays. 

—  Walter  Savage  Landor. 


348  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

17- 
ARETHUSA. 

Arethusa  arose 

From  her  couch  of  snows 

In  the  Acroceraunian  mountains, — 
From  cloud  and  from  crag, 
With  many  a  jag, 

Shepherding  her  bright  fountains. 
She  leapt  down  the  rocks 
With  her  rainbow  locks 

Streaming  among  the  streams  ; 
Her  steps  paved  with  green 
The  downward  ravine 

Which  slopes  to  the  western  gleams : 
And  gliding  and  springing, 
She  went,  ever  singing, 

In  murmurs  as  soft  as  sleep ; 

The  Earth  seemed  to  love  her, 
And  Heaven  smiled  above  her, 

As  she  lingered  towards  the  deep. 

Then  Alpheus  bold. 

On  his  glacier  cold. 
With  his  trident  the  mountains  strook 

And  opened  a  chasm 

In  the  rocks;  —  with  the  spasm 
All  Erymanthus  shook. 

And  the  black  south  wind 

It  concealed  behind 
The  urns  of  the  silent  snow, 

And  earthquake  and  thunder 

Did  rend  in  sunder 
The  bars  of  the  springs  below. 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  349 

The  beard  and  the  hair 

Of  the  River-god  were 
Seen  through  the  torrent's  sweep, 

As  he  followed  the  light 

Of  the  fleet  nymph's  flight 
To  the  brink  of  the  Dorian  deep. 

"  Oh  !  save  me  !  Oh  !  guide  me ! 

And  bid  the  deep  hide  me ! 
For  he  grasps  me  now  by  the  hair ! " 

The  loud  Ocean  heard, 

To  its  blue  depth  stirred. 
And  divided  at  her  prayer ; 

And  under  the  water 

The  Earth's  white  daughter 
Fled  like  a  sunny  beam, 

Behind  her  descended. 

Her  billows  unblended 
With  the  brackish  Dorian  stream. 

Like  a  gloomy  stain 

On  the  emerald  main, 
Alpheus  rushed  behind,  — 

As  an  eagle  pursuing 

A  dove  to  its  ruin 
Down  the  streams  of  the  cloudy  wind. 

Under  the  bowers 

Where  the  Ocean  Powers 
Sit  on  their  pearled  thrones  ; 

Through  the  coral  woods 

Of  the  weltering  floods  ; 
Over  heaps  of  unvalued  stones ; 


350  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Through  the  dim  beams 

Which  amid  the  streams 
Weave  a  network  of  colored  light ; 

And  under  the  caves 

Where  the  shadowy  waves 
Are  as  green  as  the  forest's  night ; 

Outspeeding  the  shark, 

And  the  swordfish  dark, — 
Under  the  ocean  foam, 

And  up  through  the  rifts 

Of  the  mountain  clifts. 
They  passed  to  their  Dorian  home. 

And  now  from  their  fountains 

In  Enna's  mountains, 
Down  one  vale  where  the  morning  basks, 

Like  friends  once  parted 

Grown  single-hearted, 
They  ply  their  watery  tasks. 

At  sunrise  they  leap 

From  their  cradles  steep 
In  the  cave  of  the  shelving  hill ; 

At  noontide  they  flow 

Through  the  woods  below 
And  the  meadows  of  asphodel ; 

And  at  night  they  sleep 

In  the  rocking  deep 
Beneath  the  Ortygian  shore ; 

Like  the  spirits  that  lie 

In  the  azure  sky. 
When  they  love  but  live  no  more. 

—  Percy  Bvsshe  Shelley. 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  3S1 

1 8. 
THE   GARDEN    OF    PROSERPINE. 

Here,  where  the  world  is  quiet ; 

Here,  where  all  trouble  seems 
Dead  winds'  and  spent  waves'  riot 

In  doubtful  dreams  of  dreams ; 
I  watch  the  green  field  growing 
For  reaping  folk  and  sowing, 
For  harvest-time  and  mowing, 

A  sleepy  world  of  streams. 

I  am  tired  of  tears  and  laughter, 
And  men  that  laugh  and  weep; 

Of  what  may  come  hereafter 
For  men  that  sow  to  reap  ; 

I  am  weary  of  days  and  hours, 

Blown  buds  of  barren  flowers. 

Desires  and  dreams  and  powers, 
And  everything  but  sleep. 

Here  life  has  death  for  neighbor, 

And  far  from  eye  or  ear 
Wan  waves  and  wet  winds  labor, 

Weak  ships  and  spirits  steer; 
They  drive  adrift,  and  whither 
They  wot  not  who  make  thither ; 
But  no  such  winds  blow  hither. 

And  no  such  things  grow  here. 

No  growth  of  moor  or  coppice. 

No  heather-flower  or  vine, 
But  bloomless  buds  of  poppies. 

Green  grapes  of  Proserpine, 


352  CHOICE   ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

Pale  beds  of  blowing  rushes 
Where  no  leaf  blooms  or  blushes 
Save  this  whereout  she  crushes 
For  dead  men  deadly  wine. 


Pale,  without  name  or  number, 
In  fruitless  fields  of  corn, 

They  bow  themselves  and  slumber 
All  night  till  light  is  born ; 

And  like  a  soul  belated, 

In  hell  and  heaven  unmated. 

By  cloud  and  mist  abated 
Comes  out  of  darkness  morn. 


Though  one  were  strong  as  seven. 
He  too  with  death  shall  dwell. 

Nor  wake  with  wings  in  heaven, 
Nor  weep  for  pains  in  hell ; 

Though  one  were  fair  as  roses. 

His  beauty  clouds  and  closes; 

And  well  though  love  reposes 
In  the  end  it  is  not  well. 


Pale,  beyond  porch  and  portal, 

Crowned  with  calm  leaves,  she  stands 
Who  gathers  all  things  mortal 
With  cold  immortal  hands ; 
Her  languid  lips  are  sweeter 
Than  love's  who  fears  to  greet  her 
To  men  that  mix  and  meet  her 
From  many  times  and  lands. 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  35? 

She  waits  for  each  and  other, 

She  waits  for  all  men  born  ; 
Forgets  the  earth  her  mother, 

The  life  of  fruits  and  corn ; 
And  spring  and  seed  and  swallow 
Take  wing  for  her,  and  follow 
Where  summer  song  rings  hollow 

And  flowers  are  put  to  scorn. 


There  go  the  loves  that  wither. 

The  old  loves  with  wearier  wings ; 
And  all  dead  years  draw  thither. 

And  all  disastrous  things  ; 
Dead  dreams  of  days  forsaken, 
Blind  buds  that  snows  have  shaken, 
Wild  leaves  that  winds  have  taken, 
Red  strays  of  ruined  springs. 

We  are  not  sure  of  sorrow. 

And  joy  was  never  sure  ; 
To-day  will  die  to-morrow  ; 

Time  stoops  to  no  man's  lure ; 
And  love,  grown  faint  and  fretful, 
With  lips  but  half-regretful 
Sighs,  and  with  eyes  forgetful 

Weeps  that  no  loves  endure. 

From  too  much  love  of  living, 
From  hope  and  fear  set  free, 

We  thank  with  brief  thanksgiving 
Whatever  gods  may  be 


354  CHOICE  E.YGLISII  LYRICS. 

That  no  life  lives  for  ever ; 
That  dead  men  rise  up  never ; 
That  even  the  weariest  river 
Winds  somewhere  safe  to  sea. 

Then  star  nor  sun  shall  waken, 
Nor  any  change  of  light ; 

Nor  sound  of  waters  shaken, 
Nor  any  sound  or  sight : 

Nor  wintry  leaves  nor  vernal. 

Nor  days  nor  things  diurnal ; 

Only  the  sleep  eternal 
In  an  eternal  nig^ht. 


—  A.  C.  Swinburne. 


19. 
ITYLUS. 


Swallow,  my  sister,  O  sister  swallow, 

How  can  thine  heart  be  full  of  the  spring  ? 
A  thousand  summers  are  over  and  dead. 
What  hast  thou  found  in  the  spring  to  follow .? 
What  hast  thou  found  in  thy  heart  to  sing } 
What  wilt  thou  do  when  the  summer  is  shed  ^ 

O  swallow,  sister,  O  fair  swift  swallow. 

Why  wilt  thou  fly  after  spring  to  the  south. 
The  soft  south  whither  thine  heart  is  set } 
Shall  not  the  grief  of  the  old  time  follow  ? 

Shall  not  the  song  thereof  cleave  to  thy  mouth } 
Hast  thou  forgotten  ere  I  forget.-' 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  355 

Sister,  my  sister,  O  fleet  sweet  swallow. 
Thy  way  is  long  to  the  sun  and  the  south ; 
But  I,  fulfilled  of  my  heart's  desire. 
Shedding  my  song  upon  height,  upon  hollow, 
From  tawny  body  and  sweet  small  mouth, 
Feed  the  heart  of  the  night  with  fire. 

I,  the  nightingale,  all  spring  through, 

0  swallow,  sister,  O  changing  swallow, 

All  spring  through  till  the  spring  be  done, 
Clothed  with  the  light  of  the  night  on  the  dew. 
Sing,  while  the  hours  and  the  wild  birds  follow. 
Take  flight  and  follow  and  find  the  sun. 

Sister,  my  sister,  O  soft  light  swallow. 

Though  all  things  feast  in  the  spring's  guest-chamber, 
How  hast  thou  heart  to  be  glad  thereof  yet  ? 
For  where  thou  fliest  I  shall  not  follow. 
Till  life  forget  and  death  remember, 
Till  thou  remember  and  I  forget. 

Swallow,  my  sister,  O  singing  swallow, 

1  know  not  how  thou  hast  heart  to  sing. 

Hast  thou  the  heart .''     Is  it  all  past  over.? 
Thy  lord  the  summer  is  good  to  follow. 
And  fair  the  feet  of  thy  lover  the  spring : 

But  what  wilt  thou  say  to  the  spring  thy  lover } 

O  swallow,  sister,  O  fleeting  swallow, 
My  heart  in  me  is  a  molten  ember, 

And  over  my  head  the  waves  have  met. 
But  thou  would'st  tarry  or  I  would  follow. 
Could  I  forget  or  thou  remember, 
Couldst  thou  remember  and  I  forget. 


356  CHOICE  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 

O  sweet  stray  sister,  O  shifting  swallow, 
The  heart's  division  divideth  us. 

Thy  heart  is  light  as  a  leaf  of  a  tree ; 
But  mine  goes  forth  among  sea-gulfs  hollow 
To  the  place  of  the  slaying  of  Itylus, 
The  feast  of  Daulis,  the  Thracian  sea. 

O  swallow,  sister,  O  rapid  swallow, 
I  pray  thee  sing  not  a  little  space. 

Are  not  the  roofs  and  the  lintels  wet } 
The  woven  web  that  was  plain  to  follow, 
The  small  slain  body,  the  flower-like  face, 
Can  I  remember  if  thou  forget  .■' 

O  sister,  sister,  thy  first-begotten  ! 

The  hands  that  cling  and  the  feet  that  follow, 
The  voice  of  the  child's  blood  crying  yet 
WJio  hath  remembered  VIC  f  tuho  hath  forgotten  f 
Thou  hast  forgotten,  O  summer  swallow. 
But  the  world  shall  end  when  I  forget. 

—  A.  C.  Swinburne. 

♦ 

20. 
BYRON'S    LAST   POEM. 

'Tis  time  this  heart  should  be  unmoved, 
Since  others  it  hath  ceased  to  move : 
Yet,  though  I  cannot  be  beloved. 
Still  let  me  love  ! 

My  days  are  in  the  yellow  leaf ; 

The  flowers  and  fruits  of  love  are  gone ; 
The  worm,  the  canker,  and  the  grief 
Are  mine  alone  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  357 

The  fire  that  on  my  bosom  preys 

Is  lone  as  some  volcanic  isle ; 
No  torch  is  kindled  at  its  blaze  — 
A  funeral  pile. 


The  hope,  the  fear,  the  jealous  care, 

The  exalted  portion  of  the  pain 
And  power  of  love,  I  cannot  share, 
But  wear  the  chain. 


But  'tis  not  thus  —  and  'tis  not  here  — 

Such  thoughts  should  shake  my  soul,  nor  now, 
Where  glory  decks  the  hero's  bier. 
Or  binds  his  brow. 


The  sword,  the  banner,  and  the  field, 
Glory  and  Greece,  around  me  see ! 
The  Spartan,  borne  upon  his  shield. 
Was  not  more  free. 


Awake  !  (not  Greece  —  she  is  awake  !) 

Awake,  my  spirit !     Think  through  whom 
Thy  life-blood  tracks  its  parent  lake, 
And  then  strike  home  ! 


Tread  those  reviving  passions  down, 
Unworthy  manhood  \  —  unto  thee 
Indifferent  should  the  smile  or  frown 
Of  beauty  be. 


35S  CHOICE  EXGLISII  LYRICS. 

If  thou  regret' St  thy  youth,  why  live  ? 

The  land  of  honorable  death 
Is  here  :  —  up  to  the  field,  and  give 
Away  thy  breath  ! 

Seek  out  —  less  often  sought  than  found  — 

A  soldier's  grave,  for  thee  the  best ; 

Then  look  around,  and  choose  thy  ground, 

And  take  thy  rest. 

—  Lord  Byron. 


21. 

TO   THE   MUSES. 

Whether  on  Ida's  shady  brow, 

Or  in  the  chambers  of  the  East, 
The  chambers  of  the  Sun,  that  now 

From  ancient  melody  have  ceased ; 
Whether  in  heaven  ye  wander  fair. 

Or  the  green  corners  of  the  earth. 
Or  the  blue  regions  of  the  air 

Where  the  melodious  winds  have  birth ; 

Whether  on  crystal  rocks  ye  rove 

Beneath  the  bosom  of  the  sea, 
Wandering  in  many  a  coral  grove, 

Fair  Nine,  forsaking  Poetry ; 
How  have  you  left  the  ancient  love 

That  bards  of  old  enjoyed  in  you  ! 
The  languid  strings  do  scarcely  move, 

The  sound  is  forced,  the  notes  are  few ! 

—  William  Blake. 


MISCELLANEOUS  LYRICS.  359 


NOTES. 

No.  lo.  KUBLA  Khan.  Coleridge  says  that  this  poem  came  to  him  in 
a  dream,  as  he  was  sleeping  one  day  in  a  chair.  As  soon  as  he  awoke  he 
seized  a  pen  and  wrote  thus  far,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  a  visitor.  He 
was  never  able  to  recall  the  rest  of  the  dream.  It  was  probably  suggested 
by  a  passage  in  Purchas's  travels,  which  He  was  reading. 

No.  u.  To  A  Lady,  with  a  Guitar.  See  the  sonnet  by  William 
Drummond,  entitled  To  his  Lute. 

Ariel,  Miranda,  Prince  Ferdinand,  Prospero.  Characters  in  Shakes- 
peare's drama  of  The  Tempest,  which  see. 

No.  12.  David  playing  before  Saul.  From  Browning's  tragedy  of 
Saul.     See  i  Samuel,  xvi.  23. 

No.  13.  Stanzas  FROM  "  Wine  OF  Cyprus."  See  Classical  Dictionary 
for  the  numerous  proper  names  mentioned  in  these  verses. 

No.  14.  Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn.  "We  do  not  know  in  the  whole 
field  of  English  poetry  a  more  exquisite  piece  of  fancy  than  this,  which 
supposes  a  moment  of  early  Greek  life,  with  its  buoyant  gaiety  and  all  its 
simple  incidents,  transferred  to  the  surface  of  the  Urn  and  there  arrested 
forever." — Miss  A.  B.  Edtvards. 

No.  15.  To  the  Spirit  of  Achilles.  From  the  drama  entitled  The 
Deformed  Transformed,  1824. 

No.  16.  CoRiNNA,  FROM  ATHENS,  TO  Tanagra.  From  Landor's  Imag- 
inary Conversations.  Corinna  was  a  woman  of  Tanagra,  (a  town  near 
Thebes,)  who  five  times  won  the  prize  of  poetry  from  Pindar. 

No.  17.  Arethusa.  For  the  myth  of  Arethusa,  see  Classical  Diction- 
ary.    See  also  the  references  to  Arethusa  in  The  Book  of  Elegies. 

No.  19.  Itylus.  See  note  on  Philomel,  page  65.  Also  the  poem  on 
The  Nightingale  by  Richard  Barnfield,  page  47. 

No.  20.  Byron's  Last  Poem.  "These  lines,  written  in  Greece,  and 
only  three  months  before  his  death,  are  the  last  which  Byron  wrote,  and, 
in  their  earlier  stanzas  at  least,  about  the  truest."  —  Trench. 


INDEX   OF   FIRST   LINES. 


A  good  that  never  satisfies  the  mind, 

236. 
Ah  !  Chloris,  that  I  now  could  sit,  207. 
Ah  !  my  swete  svvetynge,  179. 
Alas !  how  easily  things  go  wrong  — 

291. 
All  in  the  Downs  the  fleet  was  moor'd, 

159- 
Already  evening !  In  the  duskiest  nook, 

235- 
Amarantha,  sweet  and  fair,  211. 
Among  the  poppies  by  the  well,  286. 
An  ancient  story  He  tell  you  anon,  137, 
And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus  ?  184. 
Arethusa  arose,  348. 
Ariel  to  Miranda  :  —  Take,  336. 
Art  thou  pale  for  weariness,  36. 
Art  thou  poor,  yet  hast  thou  golden 

slumbers  ?  270. 
As  due  by  many  titles,  I  resign,  233. 
As  I  came  round  the  harbor  buoy,  213. 
As  I  lave  a-thynkynge,  a-thynkynge, 

a-thynkynge,  33r. 
As  it  fell  upon  a  day,  47. 
As  I  was  walking  all  alane,  144. 
Ask  me  no  more  :  the  moon  may  draw 

the  sea,  324. 
Attend,  all  ye  who  list   to   hear  our 

noble  England's  praise  ;  88. 
Awake,  awake,  my  Lyre !  183. 

Beautiful  shadow,  345. 
Beneath  an  Indian  palm  a  girl,  333. 
Blossom  of  the  almond  trees,  45. 
Blow,  northern  wind,  send,  178. 
Break,  break,  break,  274. 
Bright  star !  would  I  were  steadfast  as 
thou  art  —  233. 


Busy,  curious,  thirsty  fly,  46. 

By  the  hope  within  us  springing,  103. 

Care-charming  Sleep,  thou  easer  of  all 
woes,  — 33. 

Charm  mfe  asleep,  and  melt  me  so,  325. 

Christ  the  Lord  is  risen  to-day,  318. 

Come  follow,  follow  me,  329. 

Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love, 
192. 

Come  o'er  the  sea,  216. 

Come  out  and  hear  the  waters  shoot, 
212. 

Come,  Sleep,  and  with  thy  sweet  de- 
ceiving, 34. 

Cupid  and  my  Campaspe  play'd,  239. 

Day,  like  our  souls,  is  fiercely  dark ; 

US- 
Dear  is  my  little  native  vale,  120. 
Does  the  road  wind  up-hill  all  the  way? 

285. 

Even  such  is  time  that  takes  in  trust, 
294. 

Fair  Daffadils,  we  weep  to  see,  39. 
Fair  pledges  of  a  fruitful  tree,  38. 
Fair  stood  the  wind  for  France,  69. 
Fly   from   the   press   and   dwell  with 

soothfastness  ;  294. 
Forget  not  yet  the  tried  intent,  191. 
From  Tuscan'  came  my  lady's  worthy 

race ;  223. 

Gather  ye  rose-buds  while  ye  may,  186. 
Get  up,  get  up,  for  shame !  the  bloom- 
ing morn,  17. 


360 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES. 


361 


Give  me  a  cottage  on  some  Cambrian 

wild,  234. 
Go,  happy  rose  !  and,  interwove,  186. 
Go  —  let  others  praise  the  Chian  !  341. 
Go,  lovely  rose  !   186. 
Good  speed,  for  I  this  day,  40. 
Go,  Soul,  the  body's  guest,  274. 
Go  where  the  waters  fall,  311. 
Green  little  vaulter  on  the  sunny  grass, 

240. 

Hail,  beauteous  Dian,  queen  of  shades, 

30. 
Hail,  beauteous  stranger  of  the  grove ! 

41- 
Half  a  league,  half  a  league,  73. 
Happy  the  man  whose  wish  and  care, 

268.' 
Happy  those  early  days,  when  I,  246. 
Hark,  hark !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate 

sings,  13. 
Helen,  thy  beauty  is  to  me,  200. 
Hence,  all  you  vain  delights,  271. 
Here,  where  the  world  is  quiet ;  351. 
He  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek,  262. 
High  upon  the  Highlands,  84. 
Home  they  brought  her  warrior  dead  : 

324- 
How  beautiful  is  night!  35. 
How  fresh,  O  Lord,  how  sweet  and 

clean,  303. 
How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught,  267. 

If  all  the  world  and  Love  were  young, 

193- 
If  aught  of  oaten  stop  or  pastoral  song, 

27. 
I  made  a  posy  while  the  day  ran  by, 

245- 

I'm  wearin'  awa',  John,  280. 

In  Scarlet  towne,  where  I  was  borne, 
147. 

In  the  hour  of  my  distress,  313. 

In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan,  334. 

I  saw  old  Autumn  in  the  misty  morn, 
52. 

Is  thine  hour  come  to  wake,  O  slum- 
bering Night  ?  238. 

Is  this  a  life,  to  break  thy  sleep, 
269. 


It  flows  through  old  hushed  Egypt  and 
its  sands,  237. 

It  is  not  growing  like  a  tree,  264. 

It  is  the  hour  when  from  the  boughs, 
235- 

I  travelled  among  unknown  men,  121. 

It  was  the  time  when  lilies  blow,  168. 

I've  heard  them  lilting  at  our  ewe- 
milking,  83. 

I've  wandered  east,  I've  wandered 
west,  164. 

I  weigh  not  fortune's  frown  or  smile ; 
264. 

I  wish  I  were  where  Helen  lies  ;  150. 

Jerusalem,  my  happy  home,  299. 
John  Anderson  my  jo,  John,  278. 

Lamb  of  God,  I  look  to  Thee ;  317. 
Last  night  beneath  the  foreign  stars  I 

stood,  231. 
Lay  a  garland  on  my  hearse,  218. 
Life !   I  know  not  what  thou  art,  290. 
Like  as  the  damask  rose  you  see,  243. 
Like  to  Diana  in  her  summer  weed, 

199. 
Like  to  the  falling  of  a  star,  244. 
Little  Ellie  sits  alone,  248. 
Long-while  I  sought  to  what  I  might 

compare,  239. 
Lord,  come  away,  313. 
Lord,  in  this  dust  thy  sovereign  voice, 

315- 

Lord,  with  what  care  hast  Thou  be- 
girt us  round !  230. 

Love  me  little,  love  me  long,  194. 

Methought    I    saw   the   grave   where 

Laura  lay,  225. 
Milton  !  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this 

hour,  226. 
Mine  be  a  cot  beside  the  hill :  266. 
Most  glorious  Lord  of  Life,  that  on 

this  day,  228. 
Much  have  I  travelled  in  the  realms 

of  gold,  225. 
My  banks  they  are  furnished  with  bees, 

196. 
My  Daphne's   hair   is   twisted   gold, 


362 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES. 


Mv  letters  !  aTl  dead  paper,  mute  and 

white !  229. 
My  lute  awake !  perform  the  last,  181. 
My  lute,  be  as  thou  wert  when  thou 

didst  grow,  232. 
My  soul,  there  is  a  country,  298. 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral 

note,  112. 
Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  hosts,  from 

whom  all  glories  are  !  85. 
Now  the   bright  morning  star,  day's 

harbinger,  16. 

O  blithe  new-comer!    I    have  heard, 

42. 
O  Day  most  calm,  most  bright  I  301. 
Of  all  the  girls  that  are  so  smart,  161. 
Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blow,  201. 
Of  Nelson  and  the  North,  99. 
Oft  I  had  heard  of  Lucy  Gray;   171. 
Oft  in  the  stilly  night,  277. 
Of  your  trouble,  Ben,  to  ease  me,  260. 
Oh  England  is  a  pleasant   place  for 

them  that's  rich  and  high,  118. 
Oh,  green  was  the  corn  as  I  rode  on 

my  way,  254. 
Oh,  it  is  pleasant,  with  a  heart  at  ease, 

241. 
Oh  no  more,  no  more,  too  late,  218. 
Oh,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of 

the  west,  157. 
Oh,  what  a  plague  is  love !  188. 
Oh  !  wherefore  come  ye  forth,  in  tri- 
umph from  the  North,  95. 
O  Lord  my  God,  do  Thou  thy  holy 

will  —  308. 
O  Mary,  at  thy  window  be,  201. 
"  O  Mary,  go  and  call  the  cattle  home," 

333- 
Once,  in  the  flight  of  ages  past,  262. 
On  Linden  when  the  sun  was  low,  loi. 
On  the  heights  of  Killiecrankie,  79. 
O  perfect  Light,  which  shaid  away,  20. 
Orphan  Hours, the  Year  is  dead!  62. 
O  sorrow,  sorrow,  say  where  dost  thou 

dwell  ?  292. 
O  stream  descending  to  the  sea,  258. 
Our  bugles  sang  truce,  for  the  night 

cloud  had  lowered,  117. 


Outlanders,  whence  come  ye  last  ?  60. 
Out  upon  it,  I  have  loved,  215. 
O  wild  West   Wind,  thou  breath  of 
Autumn's  being,  55. 

Pack  clouds  away,  and  welcome  day, 

15- 
Phillis  is  my  only  joy,  180 
Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu,  77. 
Piping  down  the  valleys  wild,  247. 
Preserve  thy  sighs,  unthrifty  girl,  206. 

Rarely,  rarely  comest  thou,  327. 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  now.  Lord  Doug- 
las," she  says,  141. 

Rose-cheeked  Laura,  come  I  198. 

Roses,  their  sharp  spines  being  gone, 
214. 

Sad  is  our  youth,  for  it  is  ever  going, 

230. 
Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled,  76. 
Season  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitful- 

ness !  54. 
Shall  I,  wasting  in  despaire,  205. 
Shepherds  all,  and  maidens  fair,  29. 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

279. 
Since  there's  no  help,  come  let  us  kiss 

and  part  —  227. 
Spring,  the  sweet  Spring,  is  the  year's 

pleasant  king ;  37. 
Summer  is  i-cumcn  in,  37. 
Sunset  and  evening  star,  290. 
Swallow,  my  sister,  O  sister  swallow, 

354- 
Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low,  322. 
Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 

302. 
Sweet    Echo,    sweetest    nymph,   that 

liv'st  unseen,  329. 
Sweet  is  the  rose,  but  grows  upon  a 

brere ;  237. 
Sweet  nurslings  of  the  vernal  skies,  312. 

Tanagra!  think  not  I  forget,  346. 
Tell  me  not,  sweet,   I  am  unkind,  — 

212. 
Tell  me,  thou  star,  whose  wings  of  light, 

36. 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


363 


That  time  of  year  thou  mayst  in  me 

behold,  228. 
The  Assyrian  came  down  like  a  wolf 

on  the  fold,  116. 
The  chough  and  the  crow  to  roost  are 

gone,  50. 
The  cock  is  crowing,  25. 
The  day  is  down  into  his  bower,  32. 
The  glories  of  our  blood  and  state,  293. 
The  isles  of  Greece,  the  isles  of  Greece ! 

122. 
The  lark  now  leaves  his  watery  nest,  14. 
The  Lord  my  pasture  shall  prepare, 

306. 
The  Minstrel-boy  to  the  war  is  gone, 

118. 
The  mountain  sheep  are  sweeter,  114. 
The  night  is  come,  like  to  the  day,  31. 
Then  I  tuned  my  harp,  339. 
There  lived  a  wife  at  Usher's  Well,  135. 
There  were  twa  brothers  at  the  scule, 

154- 
There  were  twa  sisters  lived  in  a  bouir, 

151- 

The  Sea !  the  Sea !  the  open  Sea !  58. 
These  be  none  of  Beauty's  daughters, 

219. 
The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls,  323. 
The  tide  is  high,  and  stormy  beams, 

185. 

The  warm  sun  is  falling,  the  bleak 
wind  is  wailing,  51. 

The  world's  a  sea;  my  flesh  a  ship 
that's  manned,  287. 

They  die  —  the  dead  return  not.  Mis- 
ery, 291. 

They  have  fetched  the  steed  with  care, 
104. 

The  young  May  moon  is  beaming,  love, 

34- 

This  day,  Dame  Nature  seem'd  in 
love !  39. 

This  only  grant  me  that  my  means 
may  lie,  265. 

This  Relative  of  mine,  283. 

Thou  God  of  glorious  majesty,  320. 

Thou  lingering  star,  with  less'ning  ray, 
204. 

Thou  still  unravished  bride  of  quiet- 
ness! 343. 


Tiger !  Tiger !  burning  bright,  47. 
'Tis   time   this  heart   should   be   un- 
moved, 361. 
To  Oggier  spake  King  Didier :  75. 
Touch  us  gently.  Time  !  259. 
Traveller,  what  lies  over  the  hill  ?  255. 

Under  the  greenwood  tree,  26. 

Verse,  a  breeze  'mid  blossoms  stray- 
ing, 256. 
Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame !  307. 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay,  16. 
Welcome,  welcome,  do  I  sing,  209. 
What  is  it  to  grow  old  ?  281. 
What  tongue  the  melodies   of  morn 

can  tell?  14. 
When  all  the  world  is  young,  lad,  253. 
When  God  at  first  made  man,  305. 
When  icicles  hang  by  the  wall,  59. 
When    I    consider   how    my   light    is 

spent,  226. 
When  I  go  musing  all  alone,  272. 
When   Love  with  unconfined  wings, 

210. 
When    Robin  Hood  and  Little  John, 

132. 
When  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauld  and 

the  kye  at  hame,  163. 
When  whispering    strains   do    softly 

steal,  326. 
Where  the  pools  are  bright  and  deep, 

252. 
Whether  on  Ida's  shady  brow,  358. 
Whither,  midst  falling  dew,  48. 
"  Why  does  your  brand  so  drop  with 

blood?"  145. 
With  how  sad   steps,  O  Moon,  thou 

climb'st  the  skies  !  231. 
With  little  here  to  do  or  see,  43. 
Woodmen,  shepherds,  come  away,  25. 

Ye    banks    and    braes    and    streams 

around,  202. 
Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon, 

217. 
Ye  Mariners  of  England  !  93. 
Ye    tradefuU    Merchants,    that,   with 

weary  toyle,  224. 


INDEX    OF   AUTHORS. 


Anonymous .' 

The  Coming  of  Spring,  37. 

Bonnie  George  Campbell,  84. 

Robin  Hood's  Death  and  Burial,  132. 

The  Wife  of  Usher's  Well,  135. 

King  John  and  the  Abbot,  137. 

The  Douglas  Tragedy,  141. 

The Twa  Corbies,  144. 

Barbara  Allen's  Cruelty,  147, 

Burd  Helen,  150. 

The  Twa  Sisters,  151. 

The  Twa  Brothers,  154. 

Old  Love  Song,  178. 

My  Swete  Swetyng,  179. 

Phillida  flouts  me,  188. 

Little  but  Long,  194. 

The  Heavenly  Jerusalem,  299. 

The  Fairy  Queen,  329. 
Addison,  Joseph  (b.  Milston,  1672;  d. 
Holland  House,  1719)  : 

Translation    of    the    Twenty-third 
Psalm,  306. 
Arnold,  Edwin  (b.  1832)  : 

Almond  Blossom,  45. 
Arnold,  Matthew  (b.  Laleham,  1822; 
d.  1888)  : 

Growing  Old,  281. 
Aytoitn ,    William    Edmondstoune   (b. 
Edinburgh,  1813;   d.  1865): 

KiUiecrankie,  79. 

Baillie,  Joanna  (b.  Bothwell,  1762  ;  d. 
Hampstead,  1851)  : 
The  Chougli  and  the  Crow,  50. 
liarhauld,  Anna  l.etitia  (b.  Leicester- 
shire, 1743  ;  d.  1825)  : 
Life  and  Death,  290. 


Barham,  Richard  Harris  (b.  Canter- 
bury, 1788  ;  d.  London,  1845)  : 
As  I  lay  a-thynkynge,  331. 
Barnard,    Lady    Anne    (b.   Scotland, 
1750;  d.  1825): 
Auld  Robin  (iray,  163. 
Barnjield,  Richard  (b.  1574)  : 

The  Nightingale,  47. 
Beattie,  James  (b.  Scotland,  1735;  d. 
1803)  : 
Morning,  14. 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  : 
Invocation  to  Sleep,  34. 
A  Bridal  Song,  214. 
Song,  218. 
Beaumont,  Brands  (b.  X,eicestershire 
1586;  d.  1616)  : 
The  Life  of  Man,  244. 
Melancolia,  271. 
Blake,  William  (b.  London,  1757;  d. 
1827)  : 
The  Tiger,  47. 
The  Piper,  247. 
To  the  Muses,  358. 
Browne,  Sir  Thomas  (b.  London,  1605  ; 
d.  1682)  : 
Evening  Hymn,  31. 
Browne,  William  (b.  Devonshire,  1590 ; 
d.  1645): 
Song,  209. 
Browning,  Elizabeth  Barrett  (b.  Lon- 
don, 1809;  d.  Florence,  1861)  : 
The  End  of  the  Siege,  104. 
A  Lover's  Letters,  229. 
The  Romance  of  the  Swan's  Nest, 

248. 
Stanzas  from  Wine  of  Cyprus,  341. 


364 


INDEX   OF  AUTHORS. 


365 


Browning,    Robert     (b.    Camberwell, 
1812;  d.  1889) : 
David  playing  before  Saul,  339. 
Bruce,    Michael     (b.     Kinross-shire, 
Scotland,  1746;  d.  1767)  : 
Ode  to  the  Cuckoo,  41. 
Bryant,  William  Cullen  (American,  b. 
Cummington,     Mass.,    1794;     d. 
1878)  : 
To  a  Waterfowl,  48. 
Burns,  Robert  (b.  Ayr,  Scotland,  1759 ; 
d.  Dumfries,  1796)  : 
The  Battle  of  Bannockburn,76. 
Mary  Morison,  201. 
Highland  Mary,  202. 
My  Jean,  201. 
To  Mary  in  Heaven,  204. 
The  Banks  of  Doon,  217. 
John  Anderson,  278. 
Auld  Lang  Syne,  279. 
Burton,    Robert     (b.    Leicestershire, 
1576 ;    d.  1639)  : 
On  Melancholy,  272. 
Byron,  Lord    (b.    London,    1788 ;    d. 
Greece,  1824) : 
The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib,  ii6. 
The  Isles  of  Greece,  122. 
Stanzas  for  Music,  219. 
Twilight,  235.  [345. 

Invocation  to  the  Spirit  of  Achilles, 
Last  Poem,  361. 

Campbell,  Thomas  (b.  Glasgow,  1777 ; 
d.  Boulogne,  1844) : 

Ye  Mariners  of  England,  93. 

The  Battle  of  the  Baltic,  99. 

Hohenlinden,  loi. 

The  Soldier's  Dream,  1I7. 
Catnpion,  Thomas  (b.  ;  d.  1622)  : 

Silent  Music,  198. 
Carew,    Thomas    (b.   Gloucestershire, 
1589 ;  d.  1639)  : 

A  Proper  Woman,  262. 
Carey,  Hemy  (b. ;  d.  1743)  : 

Sally  in  our  Alley,  161.  [1400)  : 

Chaucer,  Geoffrey  (b.  about  1340;  d. 

To  Life's  Pilgrim,  294. 
Clough,  Arthur  Hugh  (b.  Liverpool, 
1819;  d.  Florence,  1861)  : 

The  Stream  of  Life,  258. 


Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor  (b.  Devon- 
shire, 1772;  d.  Highgate,  1834)  : 
Fancy  in  Nubibus,  241. 
Youth  and  Age,  256. 
Kubla  Khan,  334. 
Collins,  William  (b.  Chichester,  1721 ; 
d.  1756)  : 
Evening,  27. 
Cowley,  Abraham  (b.  London,  1618  ; 
d.  1667)  : 
The  Lover  to  his  Lyre,  183. 
A  Wish,  265. 

Dairy mple.  Sir  David  {Lord  Hailes) 

(b.  Scotland,  1726;  d.  1792)  : 

Edward  of  the  Bloody  Brand,  145. 

Davenant,  Sir  William  (b.  1606 ;    d. 

1668)  : 

Dawn-Song,  14. 

The  Soldier  going  to  the  Field,  206. 
Dekker,    Thomas  (b.  about    1570 ;    d. 
1637)  : 
Content,  270. 
De  Vere,  Aubrey  (b.  1814)  : 

Sad  and  Sweet,  230. 
Dobell,  Sidney  (b.  near  London,  1824  ; 
d.  1874) : 
The  Common  Grave,  231. 
Donne,  John    (b.  London,    1573 ;    d. 
1631)  : 
Resignation  and  Despair,  233. 
Drayton,  Michael  (b.  Warwickshire, 
1563;  d.  1631)  : 
The  Battle  of  Agincourt,  69. 
The  Parting,  227. 
Drummond,    William    (b.   Hawthorn- 
den,   near    Edinburgh,   1585 ;    d. 
1649)  : 
To  his  Lute,  232. 
Illusions,  236. 

Elliott,  Ebenezer  (b.  near  Rotherham, 
178 1 ;  d.  1849)  : 

Battle  Song,  113. 
Elliott,  Jane  (b.  1781 ;  d.  1841)  : 

Lament  for  Flodden,  83. 

Fletcher,  John  (b.  Rye,  1579  ;  d.  1625)  : 
Evening  Song,  29. 
Slumber  Song,  33. 


366 


INDEX   OF  AUTHORS. 


Ford,    jfo/m    (b.    Islington,    1586;    d. 
1640)  : 
Penthea's  Dying  Song,  218. 

Gay,yolm  (b.  near  Barnstaple,  1688; 
d.  London,  1732)  : 
Black- lived  Susan,  159. 
Greene,  Robert  (b.  Norwich,  1560;  d. 

1592)  : 
Samela,  199. 

Jleber,  Re^s^inald  (b.  Cheshire,  1783; 
d.  1826)  ; 

The  Spring  Journey,  254. 
Herbert,  George  (b.  Montgomery  Cas- 
tle, 1593  ;  d.  1632)  : 

Life's  Lessons,  230. 

Lite  and  the  Flowers,  245. 

Sunday,  301. 

The  Virtuous  Soul,  302. 

The  Flower,  303. 

The  Pulley,  304. 
Herrick,  Robert  (b.  London,  1591 ;  d. 
1674)  : 

May  Day,  17. 

To  Blossoms,  38. 

To  Daffadils,  39. 

To  the  Lark,  40. 

To  the  Virgins  to  make  much  of 
Time,  186. 

Go,  Happy  Rose,  187. 

The  Easy  Life,  269. 

The  Litany,  313. 

Music,  325. 
Heywood,  Thomas  (b.  1607  ;  d.  1649)  : 

A  Greeting,  15. 

To  Diana,  30. 
Hogg,  yames    (b.  Selkirkshire,  Scot- 
land, 1772 ;  d. 1835) : 

A  Boy's  Song,  252. 
Hood,  Thomas  (b.  London,  1798;   d. 

1845)  : 
Ode  to  Autumn,  52. 
Houghton,  Lord  (b.  1809;  d.  1885)  : 
The  Palm-tree  and  the  Pine,  333. 
Hume,  Alexander  (b.  1560 ;  d.  1609)  : 
The    Story    of    a    Summer     Day, 
20. 
//unt,  Leigh  (b.  1784 ;  d.  1859)  : 
The  Nile,  237. 


Hunt,  Leigh  (continued)  : 

The  Grasshopper  and  the  Cricket, 
240. 
Ingelow,  yean    (b.   Boston,  England, 
1830)  : 
Apprenticed,  212. 
The  Long  White  Seam,  213. 

yonson,  Ben  (b.  Westminster,  1574  ;  d. 

1637) : 
A  Proper  Man,  260. 
The  Perfect  Life,  264. 

Keats,  yohn    (b.    London,    1796;    d. 

Rome,  1821)  : 
To  Autumn,  54. 
On  First  Looking  into  Chapman's 

Homer,  225. 
Last  Sonnet,  233. 
Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn,  343. 
Keble,  yohn  (b.  Gloucestershire,  1792 ; 

d.  1866)  : 
Resignation,  308. 
From  "The  Waterfall,"  311. 
The  Lilies  of  the  Field,  312. 
Kingsley,    Charles     (b.     Devonshire, 

1819;    d.  1875): 
The  Last  Buccanier,  118. 
Youth  and  Age,  253. 
The  Sands  of  Dee,  333. 

Landor,  Walter  Savage  (b.  Warwick, 
1775  ;  d.  Florence,  1864)  : 
Corinna  from  Athens,  to  Tanagra, 
346. 
Locker-Lampson,  Frederick  (b.  1821) : 

To  My  Grandmother,  283. 
Lovelace,   Colonel   Richard  (b.  Kent, 
1618 ;  d.  London,  1658)  : 
To  Ahhea — From  Prison,  120. 
Her  Golden  Hair,  211. 
To  Lucasta  (ongoing  to  the  Wars), 
212. 
Lyly,  yohn  (b.  Kent,  1553;  d.  1601) : 
In  Praise  of  Daphne,  180. 
Cujjid  and  Campaspe,  239. 
Lytton,    L  ord    ( Owen    Meredith)     (b. 
1831;  d.  1891)  : 
Serenade,  32. 
Evening,  235. 


INDEX   OP  AUTHORS. 


367 


Afacaulay,     Thomas      Dabingtoti      (b. 
Leicestershire,  1800;  d.  Kensing- 
ton, 1859)  : 
The  Coming  of  Charlemagne,  75. 
The  Battle  of  Ivry,  85. 
The  Armada,  88. 
The  Battle  of  Naseby,  95. 
Macdonald,  George  ( b.  Aberdeenshire, 
Scotland,  1824) : 
Over  the  Hill,  255. 
Sweet  Peril,  291. 
Marlowe,  Christopher{\:).  1564  ;  d.  1593) : 
The    Passionate    Shepherd    to   his 
Love,  192. 
Milton,  John  (b.   London,   1608 ;    d. 
1674)  : 
May  Morning,  16. 
On  his  Blindness,  226. 
To  Echo,  329. 
Montgomery,  James  (b.  Ayrshire,  Scot- 
land, 1771 ;  d.  1854)  : 
The  Common  Lot,  262. 
Moore,  Thomas  (b.  Dublin,  1779 ;    d. 
1852)  : 
The  Young  May  Moon,  34. 
The  Battle,  103. 
The  Minstrel  Boy,  118. 
Come  o'er  the  Sea,  216. 
The  Light  of  Other  Days,  277. 
Morris,  William  (b.  1834)  : 

Christmas  Carol,  60. 
Alothenvell,    William     (b.    Glasgow, 
1797 ;  d.  1835) : 
Jeanie  Morrison,  164. 

Nairne,  Lady   (b.  Scotland,   1766;  d. 

1845)  : 
The  Land  o'  the  Leal,  280. 
Naih,   Thomas   (b.  Suffolk,  1567;    d. 
about  1600) : 
Spring,  37. 
Newman,  John    Henry    (b.  London, 
1801 ;  d.  1890)  : 
A  Thanksgiving,  315. 

Oldys,  William  (b.  1696;  d.  1761)  : 
The  Fly,  46. 

Peacock,   Thomas   Love    (b.   1785;    d. 
1866)  : 
The  War-Song  of  Dinas  Vawr,  114. 


Poe,  Edgar  Allan  (American,  b.  Bos- 
ton, 1809;  d.  1849)  : 
To  Helen,  200. 
Pope,  Alexander    (b.    London,   1688 ; 
d.  1744) : 
The  Quiet  Life,  268. 
The  Dying  Christian  to  his  Soul,  307. 
Procter,  Bryan    Waller  (b.    1787;    d. 
1874)  : 
The  Sea,  58. 
A  Petition  to  Time,  259. 

Quarles,  Francis  (b.  Essex,  1592 ;  d. 
1644) : 
The  Voyage  of  Life,  287. 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter  (b.  Devonshire, 
1552;  d.  1618): 

The  Shepherdess's  Reply,  193. 

A  Vision  upon  The  Faerie  Queene, 
225. 

The  Soul's  Errand,  274. 

Last  Lines,  294. 
Rogers,    Samuel    (b.    near    London, 
1763  ;  d.  1855)  : 

My  Native  Vale,  120. 

A  Wish,  266. 
Rossetti,  Christina  (b.  London,  1830)  : 

Up-Hill,  285. 
Rowley,  Samuel  (i6th  century) : 

Sorrow-Song,  292. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter  (b.  Edinburgh,  1771 ; 
d.  Abbotsford,  1832)  : 

Hunting  Song,  16. 

Gathering  Song  of  Donuil  Dhu,  77. 

Lochinvar,  157. 
Sedley,  Sir  Charles  (b.  1639  ;  d.  1701): 

Phillis,  180. 

Song  to  Chloris,  207. 
Shakespeare,     William    (b.    1564 ;    d. 
1616)  : 

A  Morning  Song,  13. 

Under  the  Greenwood  Tree,  26. 

Winter,  59. 

Quatuor  Novissima,  228. 
Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe  (b.  Sussex,  1792 ; 
d.  Gulf  of  Spezzia,  1822)  : 

The  World's  Wanderers,  36. 

To  the  Moon,  36. 

Autumn,  51. 


368 


INDEX   OF  AUTHORS. 


Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe  (continued)  : 
Ode  to  the  West  Wind,  55. 
Dirge  for  the  Year,  62. 
Death,  291. 

The  Spirit  of  Delight,  327. 
To  a  Lady,  with  a  Guitar,  336. 
Arethusa,  348. 
Shenstone,    Williain    (b.    Shropshire, 
1714;  d.  1763): 
Pastoral,  196. 
Shirley,  James  (b.  London,  1594;  d. 
1666)  : 
Holiday  in  Arcadia,  25. 
Death's  Triumph,  293. 
Sidney,  Sir  Philip  (b.  Kent,  1554 ;  d. 
Zutphen,  1586)  : 
To  the  Moon,  231. 
Southey,  Robert  (b.   Bristol,  1774;    d. 
1843)  : 
Night  in  the  Desert,  35. 
Spenser,  Edmund  (b.  London,  1552 ; 
d.  1599) : 
Herself  all  Treasure,  224. 
Easter  Morning,  228. 
Sweet  and  Bitter,  237. 
Her  Eyes,  239. 
Strode,  William  (b.  1600 ;  d.  1644)  : 

Praise  of  Music,  326. 
Suckling,    Sir    John    (b.     1609;      d. 
1641) : 
Constancy,  215. 
Surrey,  Earl  of  {Henry  Howard)  (b. 
about  1516;  d.  1547) : 
Description    and    Praise    of   Ger- 
aldine,  223. 
Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles  (b.  Lon- 
don, 1837)  : 
In  San  Lorenzo,  238. 
The  Garden  of  Proserpine,  351. 
Itylus,  354. 
Sylvester,  Joshua  (b.  1563;  d.  1618)  : 

The  Contented  Mind,  264. 
Symonds,  John    Addington   (b,  1840; 
d.  1893)  : 
A  Lost  Love,  185. 
A  Parting  in  Dreamland,  286. 

Taylor,  Jeremy  (b.  Cambridge,  1613 ; 
d.  1667)  : 
Christ's  Coming  to  Jerusalem,  313. 


Tennyson,    Alfred    (b.     Lincolnshire, 
1809;  d. 1892) ; 
The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade, 

73- 
Lady  Clare,  168. 
Break,  Break,  Break,  274. 
Crossing  the  Bar,  290. 
Songs  from  "  The  Princess,"  322. 

Vaughan,  Henry  (b.  1621 ;  d.  1695)  : 
The  Retreat,  246. 
Peace,  298. 

Waller,   Edmund   (b.    Hertfordshire, 
1605  ;  d.  1687)  : 
The  Rose's  Message,  186. 
Wastell,  Simon  (17th  century)  : 

Man's  Mortality,  243. 
Wesley,  Charles  (b.  1708  ;  d.  1788)  : 
Christ  our  Example,  317. 
Easter  Hymn,  318. 
Wesley,  John  (b.  1703;  d.  1791): 

A  Hymn  for  Seriousness,  320. 
White,  Henry  Kirke  (b.  1785  ;  d.  1806)  : 

Retirement,  234. 
Wither,  George  (b.  Hampshire,  1588  ; 
d.  1667): 
The  Author's  Resolution  in  a  Son- 
net, 205. 
Wolfe,  Charles  (b.  Ireland,   1791 ;  d. 
1823)  : 
The    Burial    of    Sir   John    Moore, 
112. 
Wordsworth,    William    (b.    1770;    d. 
1850)  : 
After  Rain,  25. 
To  the  Cuckoo,  42. 
To  the  Daisy,  43. 
"  I  travelled  among  Unknown  Men," 

121. 
Lucy  Gray,  171. 
To  Milton,  226. 
Wotton,  Sir  Henry  (b.  Kent,  1568 ;  d. 
1639)  : 
A  Spring  Idyll,  39. 
The  Character  of  a  Happy  Life,  267. 
Wyatt,  Sir  Thomas  (b.  Kent,  1503  ;  d. 
1542) : 
The  Lover  to  his  Lute,  181. 
The  Lover's  Appeal,  184. 
An  Appeal,  191. 


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